


A Kiss May Be Grand, but It Won't Pay the Rental

by grandfatherclock, pinkevilbob



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Body Horror, Bugs & Insects, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkevilbob/pseuds/pinkevilbob
Summary: Caleb lives under the ever watchful and reprimanding gaze of the master of the estate he's indentured to work in, too busy and tired to indulge in fairytales—no matter how much they fascinate him.But circumstance pushes him into the orbit of a perpetually amused fey, a skittish goblin, and a gifted Nicodrani princess who can conjure gemstones inside her lovely mouth. It's all a mess, and they're all crashing into each other, and this will surely end tragically, but...A traitorous voice inside Caleb's own mind wonders if this is something he's been missing in his life for far too long.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast, Nott | Veth Brenatto & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 16
Kudos: 82
Collections: Widojest Week 2020





	A Kiss May Be Grand, but It Won't Pay the Rental

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Widojest Week 2020! Pink & I have been working on this for a little while, and we're so excited to share it with you!. This fic is based off an old French fairytale about a princess who is gifted the power to create gems and metals and flowers within her mouth by a fey—and the entire thing _screamed_ Jester. And other elements evoked Caleb's narrative as well, so it was the perfect AU to dig into.
> 
> You can read the original fairytale [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diamonds_and_Toads), but it will be spoilery for the fic >:3!!
> 
> RE the trigger warnings: Check the notes in the end for context regarding when the torture scene begins so you can skip it*. Unfortunately the body horror + bugs/insects TW is embedded into the concept of the fic and cannot be avoided in a singular scene—and neither can Trent's conditioning/abuse of Caleb. Outside the torture scene there will be plenty of whump so be aware of that if you continue to read!
> 
> —grandfatherclock

Trent Ikithon is a man of extraordinary talent and curiosity, though not much could be said of his taste. His estate along the outskirts of Rexxentrum is drab and oppressive, the curtains thick and hanging and blotting out the shine of the sun on the rare days it beamed down on the old Zemnian grounds. He had a great deal many students, they come and go from his various offices. The political, benign matters were dealt with in the main hall, and the matter of the Scourgers— _Vollstreckers_ is what they call themselves, is what Caleb calls them—underground, bunkers where under fake arcane light surgeries were conducted, experimentations with the residuum proliferating abound without the technicalities of law getting in Trent’s way.

That was of course for the _graduates_ —he trained the kids, the ones still in school, in the emerald grounds behind his turreted home.

Caleb watches them from the corner of his eye, trying to focus on the feeling of the dirt underneath his fingertips. The kids are practicing _Poison Spray_ on each other, trying to dodge and laughing like this is a silly game. Perhaps for them it still is.

His fingers are blackened, and every time he looks at them it's another reminder of his failure.

Trent likes reminding him of his failure. Likes reminding him that he's nothing, less than the most presumptuous child brought in for… personalized education, less than the dirt under his heel. Sometimes he _makes_ Caleb clean the dirt under his heel, anything to make him bow. It's a fun little game of Trent's, how much he can push Caleb before Caleb crumples.

There's the sudden feeling of _pressure_ behind his back, and Caleb just stares at the dreary muck that he's been pushed into. The mud is cool against his skin, even with the layer of cloth separating him from the earth. For a moment he doesn't want to get up, but then he exhales sharply between his teeth to gaze at Eodwulf's easy smile.

"Bren," Eodwulf laughs, and his blue eyes glimmer in the light. His outfit looks pristine. "Oh, no, it's _Caleb_ now." Eodwulf _knows_ it's Caleb now, knows Trent told him to pick a new name since his old one was so thoroughly disgraced. "How are you?"

Caleb keeps his gaze lowered from the man who once called him friend. But that friendship belonged to Bren, not Caleb. "I am fine, sir," Caleb says. He is the least of them now and needs to constantly remind himself of that.

Trent was once preparing him to lead the other two. He remembers his silver-tongue, remembers the countless hours of training he helped Eodwulf and Astrid endure. He was once the fanatic, the bright-eyed crazy one who Trent would say reminded him of himself.

His soft response earns another bellowing laugh from Eodwulf. He was always too loud, but once Bren would think of that affectionately as he counterbalanced Wulf’s lack of subtly. Now it just gives Caleb a headache, though to be fair much did, and rather easily. Eodwulf slaps him on the back too hard to be considered friendly, though not hard enough to be considered an attack. "Good, good." Blue eyes watch his every flitting movement.

"Is there anything you need, sir?" he asks, voice still soft, still subservient. He cannot help the facsimile of an edge in the question, though. Caleb has responsibilities to take care of and he doesn't have time to spare. He also finds it _impossible_ that Eodwulf has spare time either.

_Then again,_ Caleb thinks, biting his cheek so hard he’s afraid for a moment he’s drawn blood, _you always did like playing with your food._

"What I need is to know how far and fast the rumours have spread." Eodwulf says it like they're still the close friends they once were, voice momentarily hushed. Like there isn't an unfathomable distance between them.

Caleb frowns. "Rumours?"

"Yes, rumours. I know the dirt below the stairs is different from that above, but surely even you have heard the tales being spun about the Nicodrani princess," Eodwulf whispers, though his whispers are louder than Caleb's normal speaking voice now.

Caleb swallows, and he tries desperately to keep his face impassive, unreadable. It's no use, of course—Bren was the most charismatic of all of them, and once he might've been able to spin stories around Eodwulf, Astrid, trick them with a wink of glimmering blue eyes and a boyish smile.

But Eodwulf's been twisted from the boy he used to be, from an angry kid who might let go of the rage for half-seconds to thread his fingers through Bren's, who would laugh easily and without reservation when he inevitably beat Bren at an arm-wrestling match. His black hair is cut shorter than he would've ever had it of his own volition, and the mage robes he wears are far more expensive than his taste or style.

Caleb isn't who he used to be, either. Bren wouldn't have been caught dead in these worn servants' attire, his hair allowed to grow grungy and faded because it's another reminder that he isn't worth enough to Trent to be tightly regimented. " _Yes,_ " he rasps, a hand reaching out to streak his fingers against some of the mud on his shirt. Eodwulf and Bren used to prank each other, but they'd gotten… mean-spirited even before… Caleb bites the inside of his cheek _sharply._ "The princess with the mouth of flowers and metals and jewels," he says dully.

It's a fanciful little story, the cooks murmured of it when Caleb was sweeping about. There’s a _tiefling_ of beautiful freckled skin, lovely and blessed by an archfey who lives near a well. Caleb hadn't enquired further. He might've once, but his back ached and he had several other rooms to clean before he would be allowed to sleep.

Dull, monotonous life has crowded out fairytales.

"That's the one." Eodwulf whistles under his breath, straightening his back to his full height and looking across the fields. "A single sentence from her could buy an entire armada, they say." He smirks at the thought, smiling around his words.

Neither of them had ever even considered going to the ocean, but now throw in one princess, and all the talk is ships and seas. _And a single sentence from her could flood the market, negating the value of precious gems, and ruin economies,_ Caleb thinks acidically, but he knows better than to say it out loud. "So they say." 

"Easy enough to imagine wars starting over that princess." There's an air of a threat to the comment, but Caleb isn't certain on why. Wars and the like were too far above him to give a care. True, he could easily get conscripted in the future, but that doesn't stop or even affect today's scrubbing.

"I suppose it is, sir," Caleb says. "If there is nothing else you need, I'll stop being under foot." He moves to leave, but even as he takes the first step away, he can tell by Eodwulf’s arm extending out to block his movement that he would never be so lucky.

"There's rumours," Eodwulf whispers in his ear, "that say the fey are still present, meddling. It would be rather tempting to try to curry their favour." 

Caleb bit back the urge to scoff, trying to ignore the twitch of interest he feels at the coldness in Eodwulf’s gaze. Everyone knew how dangerous it was to deal with the fey, and any fool dumb enough to mess with the fey deserved their fate.

"It would make him happy," Eodwulf says, his voice silky. He watches Caleb freeze, and his smile widens. 

Caleb wants to roll his eyes. The manipulation is frighteningly dull, but it doesn't make it any less _frightening_.

It sounds like him, it truly does. Trent is the type to try to prod strange forces through his lessers, he can almost see the way the situation is playing out. Like the sunlight flaring red behind closed eyes. Trent instructed Eodwulf to look into the rumours of this strange blight—it's a blight of nature, a princess that chokes out expenses, _you get nothing in this life without losing something, Bren_ , the man hissed in Bren's ear as Astrid rubbed the burn mark on her neck—and Eodwulf… Eodwulf is dangling meat in front of a hungry dog.

He can feel some of his previous jadedness withering away… dealing with the fey is a fool’s errand, but Caleb has always loved the fey. When he first materialized his familiar, Frumpkin was a fey creature, dancing and beautiful and perfect. It's been a while since he's seen his cat, it's been a while since he's been able to _cast_ , period. Wizards are rendered particularly useless without spellbooks.

He can already feel curiosity buzzing under his skin, like a jolt of necrotic magic that Trent might flick across his forehead when he was particularly disappointing. "The rumours did not give a location," Caleb whispers, and he coughs under his breath. He's been feeling under the weather the last couple of days.

Eodwulf gives him a particularly winning smile. "The Pearlbow Wilderness," he says, "is only a day or so of travel." He cocks an eyebrow up. "Don't you have a few vacation days you could spend?" 

The vacation days that Caleb was going to spend doing research at the Cobalt Reserve in Rexxentrum. He'd made a deal with one of the other servants to hitch a ride back into the main city for about a week, get his hands on some _books_. Any books. Smutty books. He just needed something new to read.

Eodwulf laughs once more at Caleb's tight expression. "It would make him _happy_ ," he repeats again, more emphasis on the final word.

"Hmm." And there it is. The greatest temptation of all. Gold and diamonds that wouldn't hold their value are nothing compared to winning back Trent's approval. But it was all too easy. Eodwulf was practically holding it out on a silver platter. "There's a catch." 

"What makes you say that?" 

Caleb rolls his eyes. "There's always a catch when the fey are involved." Doubly so if Trent is also involved. 

Eodwulf shrugs. "Maybe so, but what else do you have to do? Sweeping? Does that make anyone happy?" 

It was a strong argument, Caleb has to admit. But he likes to think that he only lost his dignity and not his sense. "The Pearlbow Wilderness, you say?" Why is he even entertaining this? "Even if I go there, the chances of finding any of the fey? I'd have a better chance finding a pin in a haystack." 

"And I thought you were supposed to be the clever one," Eodwulf says, rolling his eyes. "You use magic." 

A crimson shame spreads over Caleb's face as he hangs his head down low. Eodwulf already knew, but there was a particular torment in forcing Caleb to verbally admit the depth to which he’s fallen. "I can't," he whispers. 

Eodwulf tilts Caleb's head up with two fingers. A mean smile spreads over his face. "What if you had this?" In Eodwulf's hands is a small and simple spellbook, the kind a true novice would be given.

Caleb feels a hot flush along his neck, just gazing at it with his fingers twitching beside him. The blackened callouses drag against each other, and a truly pathetic part of him wants to, somehow, just… lunge for it. As if that would even work. As if he weren't a twig of a person. Eodwulf watches him, watches the _longing_ written all over his face and the way his shoulders are braced, with unrepentant delight.

No, it won't work. For the book, he'll have to play Eodwulf's game. Trent's game. Those two games have gotten only more and more similar as they've all grown up. Grown older.

Despite the situation, he feels a sudden calmness as he gazes at his old friend. The dirt under his fingernails doesn't seem to itch as much. As terrible as the cards he holds are, at least he's _holding_ cards. They want something and they've decided Caleb is unworthy enough—or perhaps _just_ worth enough to them—that they would throw him to the wind chasing down some rumour of a fey who granted a Nicodrani princess unimaginable wealth.

The Pearlbow Wilderness is indeed about a day of travel on a particularly focused horse, and Caleb's mind is whirring as he imagines the undoubtedly difficult conversation he's going to have with the stablehand. The details of the rumours are coming back to him in fits and starts… _the princess travelled the forest, and when she came out her dress was made complete with jewels…_ One of the girls giggled. _She lives in the finest house in Rexxentrum for the summer, and the finest castle in Nicodranas the rest of the year… her life is made, the fey favour her_.

Caleb was once favoured by everyone, and the adoration of his village thrust him into the conditional… love is certainly a word, and it might apply… _approval_ of Trent. And then—

_His arms are burning, and he's screaming, he's_ **_screaming_** , _he can see the blackened forms of his parents flickering amongst the flames_.

Caleb blinks, looking at Eodwulf dully. "Okay."

There’s a scream behind the two of them. A voice youthful and terrified.

"Okay," Eodwulf grins.

* * *

The main problem with traveling by horseback is that it didn't go well with reading. Caleb keeps finding himself reaching for his new spellbook, flipping through the pages and continually surprised by how blank it is. It was a pathetic little thing with only a couple of spells, but it was more spells than he had a few days before. He'd already memorized them all, but that didn't stop him craving to look over it again.

A day of travel is all it takes for Caleb to reach the Pearlbow Wilderness, he knows when the trees are winding and the leaves seem to shimmer that he’s made it to the fey-touched ground. 

And now for the hard part of actually _finding_ the fey. He stares dully at the ground, but then smiles as he thinks of the plan racing through his mind for the last bit of the hour, looking through his bag at the various spell components Eodwulf lent him.

He has no intent on finding a fey _alone_.

Caleb clears a space to begin his ritual. It was tempting to do it the night before, but he knew that if he casted it early, he would have been tempted to take his time in going to the forest. No, he needed his impatience to fuel his travel. It was this sort of self-discipline that kept him in check, Trent had always approved of his ability to reign himself in.

He sits cross legged and spends an hour burning incense and chanting the spell. The words greet him like a familiar friend, and Caleb thinks he might honestly weep for a moment at his long-awaited introduction to magic. To _this_ magic in particular. A soft meowing breaks his concentration and Caleb opens his eyes to see Frumpkin, the most perfect creature in any world. "Are you ready to catch a fey?" Caleb asks, scratching Frumpkin under the chin.

Frumpkin _purrs_ deeply into his hand, and the sensation of heated magic sparking off his cat's fur is just as stringent as his perfect memory remembers it being. He pulls Frumpkin into his lap and continues to run his hand across fur, planting his face between pointed, perking ears to just inhale the smell of him. Frumpkin always reminded him of the air after a thunderstorm, electricity just barely contained and flicking through the air.

The horse he'd acquired from the stablehand based on claims that it was business for the _master_ of the house—not untrue, but not many were willing to listen to Caleb in his current station—was tied to a tree behind him, and Caleb huffed as he gazed reproachfully at it from the corner of his eye. The horse nearly bucked him off several times, and further into the forest… he could see even from here that the trees were getting bigger, the ground getting muddy and sticky and dangerous. Not good at all for a horse. "You'll have to wait here," he says.

The horse doesn't respond to him, kicking at the tree he's tied to.

Caleb sighs, deeply and then gives Frumpkin a radiant smile. "Would you explore for me?" he whispers, and kisses Frumpkin's forehead.

Frumpkin purrs once more, and Caleb _beams_. It's been a while since he's beamed.

Silently, in the solace of his own mind, he thanks Eodwulf for being merciful enough to include _Find Familiar_ in the book.

With a deep breath, he closes his eyes and opens them again. Instead of looking down to see Frumpkin, he sees through Frumpkin's eyes. It is disconcerting to say the least, to see himself and what he's become. No more was the confident, bright boy who was ready for the world. Instead there was a worn and tired man dripping with defeat. His face is gaunt, his hair dirty, and he’s so drab, Bren would’ve been so humiliated by this future.

Shaking his head, Caleb-Frumpkin makes his way through the woods.

It is a forest with trees, more trees, and a continually present feeling of dread. Though Caleb wasn’t there himself, dread still crawled up his skin and lingered as he realized just how alone he really was here in this mess of nature. Eerie calls of birds would echo out and then go silent. The cat continued on its way looking about. One would think that a fey cat would be attuned to finding a fey, but as the hours edged on Caleb is beginning to realize that is not the case.

A rustle catches Caleb-Frumpkin's ear, and they prowl towards it. Suddenly a crossbow bolt whiffs through the air before sinking into the earth. Caleb-Frumpkin's feet startle and the cat hisses as he snakes down a bush, and Caleb realizes Frumpkin is being followed by the sound of screaming.

" _IT'S NOTHING PERSONAL_ ," Caleb-Frumpkin hears, and he's both overcome with curiosity but also a deep sense of _preservation_ —if Caleb-Frumpkin dies, _Caleb does not have the resources to bring his cat back_. He feels panic well up in his throat at the thought of a dreary Frumpkin-less existence, and so as other crossbow bolts break through the trees at Caleb-Frumpkin, Caleb-Frumpkin _bounds_ away.

He can hear someone following, can hear the break of twigs. " _NO, DAMN IT, YOU LOOK SO TASTY_ ," someone is screeching. It's a feminine voice, raspy both as a natural disposition and also crackling like she hasn't talked too much to others these days. He can't help his own curiosity, even as his lovely pet comes closer, back to the clearing with Caleb. It would be easy to snap his fingers, materialize Frumpkin back into his lap, but someone who _lives_ in the Pearlbow Wilderness… perhaps a _guide_ … 

He pulls out a dagger cinched at his side, his fingers fumbling for it as he concentrates on Frumpkin. Close, close, _closer_ —and he can see the sharp movement of black and green, right as Frumpkin breaks past a bush and right in front of him. Followed by… a goblin?

Caleb stares at her, as himself and not his cat. The woman in front of him is small, ears and nose pierced and black hair messy around her green face. Her clothes are layered and grey and _dirty_ , and she looks every bit as… tired as he is. Every bit as defeated. Her eyes are sharp and slitted like a cat's, and as Caleb stares she shrinks back.

Not knowing how else to broach conversation, he says with a calmness he does not feel, "Are you trying to eat my cat?"

She stares at him for a long time, her ears twitching slightly. "I was trying to eat _a_ cat. Not your cat." She says it slowly, with every word something in her body—arm, leg, ear, face—shaking, twitching, moving.

"So it was another cat you were chasing, shooting at, and trying to eat?" Caleb asks, trying not to sound too offended or confrontational as he snaps Frumpkin up into his arms. _You were perfect_ , he coos into one of Frumpkin’s ears, and the cat snuggles into his grip.

"No, but it was only some cat wandering the forest," she says, and there’s something so slippery, so _clever_ , in the way she talks. She reminds Caleb of a lawyer, almost. "It belonged to no one. Now it is your cat which I'm not trying to eat." She juts her chin out proudly at her reasoning despite still cowering.

A smile tugs at Caleb's mouth and he fights it. "And there's a difference?" 

The little goblin nods. "There is." 

"Ah." Caleb frowns. She is a strange one, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Many would say that Caleb is strange, but that didn't make it a good thing either. "Do you live here?" Back to business.

"And what's it to you?" the goblin asks, not budging on an inch.

Caleb shrugs, resisting the urge to smile once more. _Ohhh,_ familiar, _you’re so familiar_. "Mere curiosity."

The goblin woman stares hard at him, nose twitching like she's catching the waft of him. Then her sharp eyes flit up to Frumpkin peeking out past his arms, and Caleb wonders if she's caught wind of _Frumpkin's_ unique smell—the way his cat fitzes with magic with every breath. "That's not a normal cat, is it?" She stares at the spellbook in his hand, gripped by his blackened fingers, and her eyes brighten. "You can do _magic_ , can't you?" she breathes.

"Ah, um." Caleb finds himself flustered by the question. The simple answer is now _yes_ , and there's a palatable relief in his voice that it's no longer a lie. "Yes," he says once more. "Ja, I'm a wizard." He's curled into himself so pathetically, Bren would've said that with a raised eyebrow and an arrogant smile. 

He's not Bren.

"I was wondering if we might be able to help each other," he says, and noticing the way her eyes keep flitting between his cat and his book, he blusters, "I see you're interested in magic. Perhaps I could teach you a trick or… two…" He falters. "I'm looking for a fey."

"A _FEY_?!" The goblin laughs, but it's more out of nervousness than anything else. He can tell by how she plays with a loose thread in her shirt. "Everyone knows not to make deals with fey, they're tricky folk. They steal your socks, I hear. And your hats." She points to Caleb's head. "You don't have a hat on, M… Mister Wizard, perhaps it was stolen."

Caleb shakes his head. "I've never been a hat person." 

The goblin frowns a little bit. "Everyone knows that wizards are supposed to have big pointy hats." Caleb blinks owlishly at her—the odds of finding another person in touch with myth out here, outside all their other similarities… though he has to admit to himself it must take a certain type of person to live here with the fey. "It's proof that they're a good wizard." 

"I'm not a good wizard." He isn't a good anything. "But I do know a few tricks."

"Hmm." The goblin frowns, obviously weighing her options. She holds the crossbow close to her like a lifeline, but she’s evidently well-practiced with it. Caleb can see familiarity in how she holds the weapon. "And why are you so desperate to find a fey? I'm a goblin."

And Caleb is a monster. "Does it matter that you are a goblin?"

"It does to me," she says, voice _sharp_. Almost too defensive, lilting into a shriek near the end. "What's your plans with this fey?" she blusters, words quick like she’s attempting to distract him away.

Which Caleb is fine with. "I'm to test a rumor," he says, leaving it at that. He's wary of her, but she is wary of him as well. This could be useful.

"I'm not so good at learning magic tricks," she says, gazing at him with her large ears flopping down. A dark flush deepens around her face, making it a thicker green, and she runs a hand through her clumpy black hair. Every time he speaks he can see her jagged sharp teeth uncomfortable in her mouth, like she isn't used to talking around them. "Do you have food?" Her ears perk up hopefully. 

Caleb doubts her claim on magic—he has a feeling this character has picked up on Frumpkin's… lack of regularity, knew immediately he had a spellbook. Already more than what the average commoner would know of arcane practices. But regardless… "I have coin," he says, which is true. Just not much of it. "Enough that you could buy some bread in the market."

The goblin stares at him. "They'd kill me," she shrieks after a moment, and gestures to her own face. "And they'd be _right_ to, I'm a goblin. They'd think I'm a danger, and… and…" 

"You're sneaky, though," Caleb points out. He hadn't even heard her before she started yelling of her own volition. "But I could buy bread _for_ you…" He lets it drag out. "If you help me find a fey, near a mysterious well."

There's more measuring and sizing him up. "I've never seen a fey here, but I do know of a well. How," she hesitates, glancing up at him with a nervousness to her movements, "how am I to trust you? I could give you what you want and then you might just snap your fingers and fry me up." 

Caleb goes ghostly pale and his stomach churns at the thought of it. "I promise, I will _never_ fry you up. As for trusting me with anything else, I wouldn't." There isn't a creature less trustworthy than Caleb Widogast. 

Nott _stares_ at him—and then, laughs. Her eyes are wide like she can’t believe she’s _laughing_. "Well, you're honest. I'm Nott." 

"You're not honest?" Caleb repeats back carefully. He is certain that he hasn't met anyone stranger than this goblin.

The goblin shakes her head. "No, that's my name. Nott the Brave."

Caleb leans down, offering her a hand. He hopes she doesn't mind his ruined fingers. "Hello, Nott the Brave," he says, and tries to give her a charming smile. It's awkward on his face, but it's so much easier pretending to be someone—just _someone_ , anyone—when it isn't with Eodwulf, or Astrid, or _Trent_. Someone who knows he's made of dirt from the inside out. "My name is Caleb Widogast." 

Widogast means _stranger_. He chose it and Trent smiled. He was a stranger in his own skin.

Nott stares at his hand with further widening eyes—her eyes are slitted, and Caleb thinks he might like them, might like how they're cat-like—and then gazes at his face. Something accusatory in the furrow of her eyebrows, like she's waiting for him to pull a prank. She darts her hand out to shake it quickly, and then pulls away. "It's a good thing you have magic, because _no offense_ , but you're slight, Mister Widogast." 

"Please," Caleb says, huffing out an awkward laugh. "Call me… call me Caleb." 

Nott peers back at him. "I'm not going near the well," she warns, and then says crossly, "I _hate_ water." She begins walking out past the cluster of trees, and gestures for him to follow. "You coming?" A pause. "Caleb?" 

Caleb exhales, looking at Frumpkin. _What are we getting into?_ he thinks pensively.

Then he follows.

* * *

Caleb quickly regrets every decision that led him to the Pearlbow Wilderness. Especially as the giant white stag before him gouges him with his antlers. It was just a second ago Nott was warning him not to eat the red berries, _they make you shit in your pants, Caleb_ … "Take them out, take them out," he quietly pleads as the stag lifts him off the ground and shakes him about like a rag doll.

" _CALEB_!" Nott screams, her voice cracking from the loudness of that singular name past her sharp teeth. She shoots the stag with her crossbow, bolt after bolt, but the creature doesn't seem to notice them tearing into his hide.

Darkness blurs in and out around Caleb with every painful jostle. He pulls out his little diamond for a spell, one of the trinkets Eodwulf left him, but feels a fresh spasm of pain as the stag shakes him. He loses his grip on it and drops the gem before he can finish casting. The runes disappoint.

Indeed, things are not looking so good.

Absurdly—that’s exactly when a _giant_ lollipop appears out of nowhere and slams into the side of the stag’s head, dislodging Caleb from its horns. The only explanation he thinks of is that it must be a hallucination, but it's too solid for that.

He stares up miserably at the sky for a moment once the stag drops him, thinking about his mother and father. He was going to die here, Frumpkin hissing and hovering protectively over his weak ragged body, with a screaming goblin desperately shooting crossbow bolts into a stag who keeps shaking them off with his mighty antlers. Even when they do hit into his side the creature does not seem to notice or care, inky eyes focused on _breaking_ Caleb— 

But _ooooooooh_ , that flash of pink. It's coming from behind a tree, and he can hear an accented voice murmuring, _Oh man, oh man_ like a hymn. Or a curse. It drums in the back of his mind, and he looks down at wounds staining his shirt. Blood is always so hard to wash out, and he touches where the antlers protruded into him, hissing with pain. He turns with great difficulty, managing not to stumble into dreary wet muck— _oh_ , if the others could see him now—and searches for his diamond. It's probably smeared brown by now, he _can't find it_ —

" _CALEB_ ," Nott is shrieking once more. The stag has slammed into her, pressed her up against another tree. She's holding the crossbow to his face but misses with the jut of the stag against her arm throwing her aim wide. She's bloodied _too_ , and sweat gleans against the blood on her face.

_She needs him_. Caleb realizes that with astonishment as he forces himself to lean up on his knees. They tremble with the effort. The fitzing pink lollipop is smacking the stag but it isn't enough, and Nott _needs him_. Needs him to step up. He swallows, his throat dry. Along his arms, fiery magic spirals, and he lets out a shuddering sigh as he casts _Fire Bolt_.

The explosive magic leaves the stag blackened out by flame, and Caleb stares at the ghostly figure before Nott finally lands her arrow right into his inflamed muzzle. The stag whines, this pathetic, tortured sound, and Nott falls down to the ground where the stag held her up. She lands on her feet, the movement shockingly graceful, and she turns to give Caleb a winning smile.

Caleb is still staring at the fire. It dances on the stag's corpse, ignoring Caleb. Fire doesn't care what it is used for and what food it is fed. Fire is selfish and only consumes. Just like him.

"Caleb! CALEB!" Something presses into his side and it takes him a moment to register it and even longer to realize that it's Nott.

Mechanically, he places a hand on Nott's shoulder, his eyes never leaving the trembling flames. The smell of burning flesh clings to his nose. Memories cling even harder to his mind.

Nott tugs on his arm. "Are you okay?" 

It’s been _awhile_ since he’s been asked that. It takes him a second to even register the question as being directed to himself. "Nein," Caleb says, shaking his head. "But we are here. And there's someone else here as well." 

"Who? I don't see anyone." Nott looks about, squinting hard for any hidden assailants.

Caleb points at the lollipop, but it is gone now. Maybe he really had been seeing things. "It was pink," he mumbles listlessly, and sighs as he continues to look down. Looking for his diamond.

Nott frowns, scratching her head. She's still bleeding, and beads of sweat intrude on the red glistening against her verdant skin. "Everything seemed kinda red," she admits, and starts looking around too, their movements starting to mirror each other. "That… your magic was _incredible,_ " she says with a hushed kind of awe. Caleb blinks quizzically at her and she gestures to the flaming stag. "You said you weren't a good wizard!" 

Caleb gives her the weakest twitch of a smile. "Ah, I'm…" _Worthless_ , he thinks, _except perhaps when it comes to butchering perfect things_. The white fur of the stag is bloodied and blackened. "But it was you who killed it with your crossbow. You are quite talented with it."

"I couldn't hit your cat," Nott says, voice raising like she's alarmed by his praise.

Caleb grins. "Ah, but see." He taps her nose, and Nott's eyes cross as she warily watches his finger approach. "My cat is _special_." 

Nott looks down, embarrassed, and then her ears perk up. She reaches down and pulls what looks like a muddied rock out from the squelching muck, but Caleb sees from where the sun shines down how it sparkles. "Your diamond," she says happily, tossing it to Caleb. He fumbles for it, and stares as Nott points to a great oak they were trying to pass before the stag intruded. "We're close," she says in a hush.

"Danke," he whispers, putting his diamond back in his pocket. "Let's go." Caleb walks over to the oak, listening to his own boots squelch against the wet grounds, before he notices that Nott is not by his side.

She hangs back, fiddling with the hem of her shirt staring down at the mud. "I'm not going with you. I can't. Not with all that water. I _can't_." Nott's hands tremble along with her voice, her expression painfully familiar.

Fear is something that Caleb understands all too well. "Ja, okay." He’s not a very comforting person but he offers her his most comforting attempt at a smile. "This part is something I need to do on my own I think. But will you be okay on your own?" Genuine concern threads through his own voice and he internally scoffs to himself. _Soft_ , you’re so _soft._

"Will you?" Nott asks pointedly back, sharp teeth sinking into her lower lip as she considers him..

"But I'm not alone. I have Frumpkin." Caleb snaps his fingers twice, his cat yawning and a perfect weight is on his shoulders. "Can you hide somewhere safe? I'll come back for you when my task is done." 

Nott stares up at him, a small frown on her face. "Promise?" A solemn nod is exchanged. "I'll wait for you then." She scampers away, offering him one final look over her shoulder before utterly disappearing.

Caleb exhales deeply, turning away. The smile flits from his face like an ill-fitting tie around his neck finally loosened after a long school day, and he hesitantly walks around the long oak. It's old, the branches withering and trembling with the occasional gust of breeze traversing through the forest, and Caleb thinks with faint amusement how ironic it would be if the tree just broke and crushed him right now. Ending the miserable strain of his existence completely, for good. 

He shakes his head. _Stop allowing your injuries into your head_ , he thinks crossly, leaning against the oak for a moment. When his hand leaves it, there's a faint fingerprint of red coating into the bark. Caleb stares, and it's Frumpkin rubbing against his knee that causes him to blink and snap out of it.

"Onward," he tells his cat, and he begins to murmur under his breath, casting _Detect Magic_. The arcane words come quick and familiar, the glyphs trembling and glowing and orange around him, and then he begins to walk down the strange winding path Nott described to him before the stag so rudely began his best to kill the two of them.

Along the oak, past the bush of red berries… slowly he senses tendrils of thick arcane magic around him, like the veins along his arms coalescing at his wrist. They're greenish, gently shifting with the breeze, and Caleb finds the well almost _picturesque_ along a path where two huge trees are intertwined into each other but leaving a space for him to walk through.

It looks vaguely like a doorway.

He takes a deep breath, examining the well. It seems perfectly ordinary, made of stone and wooden planks constructed above it in order to reprieve the water from the glare of the sky. There's a rope there too, a pulley, everything one might need to get for themselves some water.

Caleb takes a step forward, and promptly trips.

" _SCHEISSE_ ," he groans, flame sparking around his fingertips as he looks for the attacker—finding simply a small, almost imperceptible string tied around the two trunks, ripe for pranking travellers. "V-very funny," he says, and it _is_. "Hallo? I'm looking for a… fey…" He sounds ridiculous.

There's no response, right up until he's looking back to the well—all to see a waifish, redheaded person sitting by the edge of the stone, glittering emerald eyes watching him evenly. Green robes adorn his frame, but they're a little too messy, a little too loose, to be that of a mage's. The creature raises up one long eyebrow, brown skin gleaming under the patch of sunlight, and his hair glitters like the tendrils of magic that led him here. "A _fey_ ," the man says. "Wherever are you going to find a _fey_?" He sounds _so_ amused.

"One would assume in a fey-touched forest," Caleb says. "Though, the Feywild would be the best. However, rumors do say that there's a lodge in Tal’Dorei where the fey run wild." Caleb says that almost wistfully, he’s always wanted to travel the magical excesses of Tal’dorei. "But I have access to neither of those places, so here is where I'm looking." 

"I see I'm dealing with a clever one here. How droll," the man says with a smirk.

Caleb takes a step back, shaking his head almost defensively. "Nein, I am not clever at all." Trent would be so completely finished with him if Caleb attempted to brag of his intelligence. He made it abundantly clear he thought Caleb was the stupidest of all his pupils. "I'm only looking for a fey." 

"Which is either the most clever or foolish thing you could look for." The man approaches Caleb and circles him. "Nevertheless, you’re right, of course—the Feywild would be best, the fey are only truly free there." He hums. "Let's have a look at you. What would you do if you even found one of those mysterious creatures?" 

"Ask for their favor and bring back proof to my master," he says, the words well-practiced. He’s had days of travel to think of the simplest, most fool-proof ways to converse with a tricky magical being without being absolutely humiliated.

The man raises an incredibly feathery eyebrow. He was handsome, in his own strange way. "Is that so? And what would your master do with your favor?" He says _master_ sharply, in contrast with the airiness of the rest of him.

Caleb frowns and looks away. "I do not know." He learned quickly to not question Trent. 

"Does he deserve your or my favor?" the man asks, leaning forward.

"It's not our place to question him!" Caleb snaps. He goes pale quickly, realizing _just_ what he had done. _Schiesse_. He forces his shoulders down, contorts himself into a further meek facsimile of himself. "I'm, I am sorry. I beg your pardon. Please."

The man leans forward, a hand skirting by Caleb's face. Caleb does his best not to flinch at the touch, having learned that when it comes to authority that any reaction of fear simply prolongs the torment, but the brown hand does still. "They call me," the man says, lowering his long elegant fingers to brush some dirt off Caleb's shoulder, "the Traveler." He pauses, and his lips twitch into a languid smile. "Well. _She_ calls me the Traveler." 

He takes a step back, bowing for Caleb. Some of his hair falls down his shoulders, and he gives Caleb an impish smile. "Tell me what stories have spread about me," he says, with an arrogant wave of his hand. Green energy sparks around him and he holds up a verdant parasol with intricate floral designs. It gives the man a measure of shade as he continues to take in the sight of Caleb. "Oh, you're so dirty!" Another wave of his hand, and the muck that stuck to Caleb's skin and clothes like a second skin withers away, leaving him spotless.

Without his dirt and grime, Caleb feels naked, exposed. Part of him is tempted to roll in the dirt to hide himself from the world. No one notices a dirty servant. "The stories mostly just focus on a Nicodranian princess more beautiful than either of the moons." 

"As they should be. She is a special girl." The Traveler tuts, gesturing with his hand for Caleb to go on.

"Then they are true?!" Caleb half-thought that this must be an elaborate joke, but this _changes_ things. The Traveler frowns and waves his hand again impatiently. "Oh, ja, the stories. They say that she has earned the favor of the fey and was gifted unimaginable riches. A single word from her lips drips out jewels."

"And is that what you want? Endless riches? Is that what you deserve?" the Traveler asks, his ever-present grin looking vicious.

Caleb rubs his arm uncomfortably. That question feels like a double-edged sword, like there’s some meaning dancing along the phrase that Caleb is too dull to be privy to. "What I want is to please my master once more. As for what I deserve…" He looks away. He deserves the worst punishments known, but he is too much of a weak coward to seek them. "What I deserve is of no consequence to you."

"You would give your master unimaginable riches," the Traveler says, his voice coy like Caleb's failed a particularly easy test. "Do you really _want_ that? Want your master to have _everything_?" He twirls his parasol between his long fingers, watching Caleb with emerald eyes shining. "Do you really think that he might share an inch of the opulence you would give him with you?" Caleb opens his mouth, but before he can say anything the Traveler hums under his breath, this strange tune he's never heard before. "But even if he wouldn't, that's not what you _deserve_ , is it?"

Caleb feels hot all over, feels pulled taunt like a string. He hates the way the Traveler says Caleb's truth like it's a crude joke. "My master will give me what I deserve," he says, voice particularly icy for a moment before he takes a deep breath, forcing his shoulders to lower. "Please, I've come here for you to judge me. It was quite a journey, and perhaps a deal could be struck."

The Traveler watches him for a moment. "How about…" He hums under his breath, and then raises three fingers. "I judge you, and in turn you pull for me… three pranks." His smile widens, impossibly. "I want you to truly impress me, dear. Three _little_ pranks, and I give you the key to ludicrous and outlandish wealth."

"Three pranks?" Caleb asks incredulously. Bren had pulled pranks, true, childish ones when he thought he could conquer the world. Caleb never dares to put a toe out of line. He looks about the clearing and his eyes land on the string that tripped him. "Traps for future intruders."

"Oh don't be so gauche. This world is a dreadfully dull place and all I ask is for it to be more exciting," the Traveler says, waving his hand about.

A frown is etched onto Caleb's face. This was going to take some _clever_ thinking. An idea slowly forms in the back of his mind as his head whirs, and he snapping his fingers, Frumpkin appearing no longer on his shoulders where the creature had crawled up but at his feet. Caleb circles the well to find the best place that someone would use to fetch water and has Frumpkin relieve himself right where they would stand. "Prank One."

"I give it a six out of ten," the Traveler says, humming softly. "I'll take it, but let's aim for something a bit more impressive."

Caleb exhales through his teeth, and snaps his fingers, causing Frumpkin to materialize back into his arms. What to do, what to do… his frown deepens, until he looks down at his cat and Frumpkin blinks up quizzically at him. Slowly the cogs inside Caleb's brain start spinning and he runs his hand through Frumpkin's fur, petting him and cooing out phrases of endearment in Zemnian.

The Traveler raises a long eyebrow. Caleb smiles at him, taking a hesitant step forward into the fey's space. The Traveler's other eyebrow raises, but he just hums with amusement under his breath. "I got some of my muck on you," Caleb murmurs, looking at him apologetically. "Forgive me, please." A blackened finger raises, to touch the Traveler's forehead.

And a spark of energy jolts between the two of them. The Traveler doesn't flinch at all but his lips to break into a smirk, and Caleb pulls his hand back, grip tightening on his arcane cat whose fur always fitzes just enough to expose his otherworldly nature. "How was that?" he asks, voice breathless.

"… Heh." The Traveler's eyes run over him, gaze _heated_. "Seven out of ten."

Caleb relaxes grateful that his little prank did not incur the fey's wrath. But he is at a loss of what to do next. He can not press his luck and prank the archfey again and a future prank for some hapless soul would not be enough. Pranking Frumpkin is completely out of the question and Caleb doesn't dare expose Nott to the Traveler. She's a strange little goblin, but she is the closest thing he has to a colleague in some time—other than Frumpkin, of course. Sitting down on the ground, he starts to think.

"I just cleaned you," the Traveler says with a pout. He peers down at Caleb. "That better not be your final prank."

"Nein, of course it is not." His next breath is more of a hiss past his teeth. "You require novel entertainment and that means fresh victims. Which we've ran out of."

The Traveler taps his chin. "Your cat—"

"Is not an option," Caleb interrupts, voice fierce with a heat that’s unlike him.

A hum escapes the Traveler's mouth. "The princess. You can go to Rexxentrum and prank the princess. That would be a laugh."

Caleb grimaces at the thought. "You give her a fine gift and then shove me in front of her? Present her with a cow patty? That is not a prank, that's just cruel. Is she not precious to you?"

"The most precious," the Traveler says airily, and then closes in his parasol, walking forward until he's right in front of Caleb. He presses the parasol into Caleb's hands, leaning down. "Once you prank her, show her this and she'll know it's my gift to her." His eyes glimmer brightly. "Upon the completion of your payment to me," he whispers, face close by Caleb's, "you'll have what you desire."

He steps back once more, grinning up at the faint sunlight. He raises his fingers to cover his face and the shadows string along his brown face. "She _deserves_ a laugh, dear, and making people laugh is never cruel." He once again sits by the edge of the well, careful to avoid where Frumpkin urinated. "Off to the races, darling mage. The sooner you see her, the soon you see all life has to offer." He materializes in his hand a gold coin, and tosses it into the well without a care. "Soon enough your life will be made."

Caleb just _stares_. "And that… is all?" That can't be all. Already he's imagining the headache of sneaking into the princess's private quarters, all the _technicalities_ … perhaps a sneaky goblin could be of use, but then Caleb would owe her a lot more than some bread.

"That is all," the Traveler confirms, grinning at him.

"But I can't go to the city without my master's"—the Traveler vanished before Caleb could finish his sentence—"approval." Caleb scoops up Frumpkin and sighs deeply, the dread pooling in his stomach.

He quickly traces his way back where he last saw Nott, walking past the two intertwined trees and avoiding the little string. Along the patches of red berries he attempts to find Nott, giving up promptly a minute later as he realizes she’s impossibly hidden from him. "Nott. Nott?" 

Nott's head pops out of the branches of a tree, nearly giving Caleb a heart attack. "Caleb! You didn't die! And you're clean." She says the last part with more than a little disgust, touching his now clean face.

It’s… endearing. Caleb rubs his temple with his fingers. "Nein, I did not die, and ja, I'm clean and no more happier than you are about it," he says with a sigh. "But I have been given a task."

"That looks more like an umbrella to me." Nott jumps down from the tree.

Caleb rolls his eyes with a grin. "Parasol. I'm to go to Rexxentrum, prank the Nicodranian princess, and present her with this parasol."

Nott frowns. "And how are you going to do that?"

"I'll figure that out. Nott, can I ask for your help once more?" Caleb asks. "You don't have to give it to me, but may I ask?" The goblin stares at him for a moment, and Caleb’s smile turns weak. He needs Nott’s help, he’s realizing this rapidly. “I still have to buy you that bread,” he reminds her, and he resists the urge to wince as he remembers just how broke he is. “The city might be dangerous, but we would be safer together. And once I can spit jewels, you could have some of them.” The last part said more than a little desperately.

She watches him. “I need the bread,” Nott repeats, and dusts herself off, completely ignoring the bit about the jewels. "Of course I'm giving my help to you. There's no way you'd make it on your own." Nott heads down the pathway they came from, giving the dead stag one last look before turning away once more. "Come on, you have a princess to prank."

* * *

Rexxentrum is drab.

Caleb sighs, giving Nott a keen look over as they wait for the roads to sufficiently empty enough for the passerbys to cross. They found her a porcelain mask, and Caleb is intimately aware of the danger he's brought into her life in bringing her here. People give them strange looks as they pass but Caleb's muddied himself enough most people just avoid looking at him, gazes flitting away when his pale blue eyes meet curious expressions directed to Nott. She's close by him, long ears nod hidden anxiously twitching, and Caleb threads his fingers through his hair.

He and Nott rode straight here, taking a route that didn't involve crossing Trent's estate. It was a journey of several days, but Caleb knew when he would be expected back that they required _some_ kind of result—incompletion was worse than failure, and failure was already devastating. Part of him is particularly convinced that perhaps it wasn't a fey he encountered in the woods at all. Perhaps the Traveler was a talented scam artist who delighted in preying on people's hopes, how could a being grant such unimaginable _wealth_ on the basis of _pranks_?!

He thinks the stress has been driving him mad—all throughout the travel he felt like there were eyes on him, and Caleb wondered then periodically, wonders _now_ , if perhaps Trent sent a spy after him. If Trent would bother to.

It's silly, if so. Trent knows how well-trained Caleb is.

Part of it felt good. It's hard to admit to himself but playing those games felt _good_ —Bren loved pranks. Caleb isn’t allowed to.

Nott offers him a piece of the bread he'd scrounged up the money to buy her, and Caleb waves her off, giving her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He thinks if he ate he might puke. "Ah, Nott," he murmurs urgently, as there's a gap and they finally cross the street. There's a rush of other people around them and he pulls her close, hand on her shoulder. Nott startles at the movement before looking up with wide eyes at him. "I need your help to think of a scheme."

"A scheme?" The goblin rubs her chin, huffing under her breath. "To make more money? I think I could come up with some good cons for us to run. How are you at accents?" 

"Hoow are you aht ahccents?" Caleb mimics, trying to copy her voice.

Nott's face falls. "Terrible."

Caleb grins slightly for just a couple of seconds. For so long his failure in this department has been a dreary mark of shame, but there’s something damned near playful in Nott’s admonishment. "And it's not for more money, though that is tempting. I have a paying job." To say that his work for Trent _pays_ is an exaggeration, but Caleb gets food and a bed, so he figures it counts. "A scheme to prank the princess. I'm to make her laugh, remember?"

"Do you think the princess likes fart jokes?" Nott asks. "Those are the height of comedy where I'm from." She sighs deeply, like she doesn’t necessarily approve. “I grew up with _so many brothers_ ”—Nott _freezes_ —“bothers,” she yelps. “So many annoying fuckers…”

Caleb eyes her curiously, but he can respect her need for privacy, her desperation to hold onto her truth. Especially around a shady stranger. "Not likely she’ll enjoy fart jokes. Royalty probably enjoy highbrow humor."

Nott blows a loud raspberry, rolling her eyes. The sunlight refracts off them brilliantly. "Bah. Just pants someone. Most people tend to find that very funny."

Memories of Bren's younger days fly to Caleb. Of pranks and the following punishments. His hands tighten into fists as he remembers a ruler snapped against forcibly open palms, his arrogant smile interrupted by a pained hiss at the sting. "How about we make that plan Z."

Nott laughs, this sharp abrupt sound that Caleb's already found himself accustomed to. They dip down an alley where Caleb knows where many of the foreign diplomats and politicians live in embassies and gifted homes from the Cerberus Assembly—oh _god_ , he thinks with sudden fright, _what if they consider this prank an international incident?!_ —and Caleb pulls Nott close by her shoulder. 

Leaning down, sitting by the shadows, he raises an eyebrow at her. "I can… disguise myself," he says, remembering some of the spells in the novice spellbook Eodwulf gave him. "Perhaps I could…" His words are heavy with hesitance. “Pretend to be her?"

A soft pause as Nott mulls his words. "Clever," she says, her voice earnest, and then she pokes him in the shoulder. Caleb doesn't know what to make of the fact that he doesn't feel any urge to wince, it's been a while since he's felt that way about someone's touch. "But you're _terrible_ at accents."

Caleb flushes, remembering Astrid and Eodwulf’s merciless poking despite himself. "My throat can be unwell," he says, raising his hand to his face. He points up one finger. "Perhaps the princess is inside—in that case we'll be immediately caught and hopefully the parasol will be enough to make her have mercy. I need you to _run_ , Nott, if that is the case." 

"Oh, I'm definitely running, I'm not going to fucking jail," Nott scoffs, and then her ears slowly fall as Caleb gazes at her intently. "You mean, leave _you_ to the po-po?" Nott has such strange words for the Crownsguard.

"Ja, the uh. Po-po." He sighs. "You do not need to get in trouble with them on my behalf." Nott scowls, and Caleb adds on, surprised by her quick loyalty, "and it's easier breaking into a county jail than breaking out." At this, Nott seems mildly satiated, reaching down to scritch Frumpkin behind the ears. It was only last night that she stopped trying to eat him.

Caleb raises his second finger. "The other option is that of course she's _not_ in." He smiles, thinking about how _insane_ this is. "And then we… um. Make ridiculous purchases. You speaking on my behalf on account of the poor throat."

" _ME_?!" Nott's ears fold back. "But I'm, I'm, I'm me.” She trips over her words, a flush crawling over her face and her jaw trembling as she opens and closes her mouth rapidly, as if unsure of what to say. "I mean, a goblin."

_Yes, a goblin_. A goblin that hates other goblins. There was something curious about that, something curious in her halting familiarity with magic, but Caleb let it go. "Ah, right, I almost forgot. Perhaps I could teach you how to disguise yourself." He says that last bit too casually, knowing her trepidations.

"I mean…" Nott’s voice trails, something so vulnerable about those two words. "I told you, I’m not so smart… I’ve mostly been people’s assistants." Her eyes grow wide, that doubt from before when Caleb mentioned he could teach her tricks still _there_ —but curiosity too, so much curiosity. "Could you? Could you really?" she asks after a long moment, instead of protesting.

"Ja, I believe so." He smiles down softly at her. "You are very clever."

A grin unbelievably wide and toothy grows on her face, but then it stills. "Do you know what the princess looks like?"

Caleb frowns. _Merde._ "Nein. Maybe this was a bad idea." He could practically hear Eodwulf laughing at him in the back of his head.

"No! It's a great idea." Nott’s eyes flash, like it’s somehow very important to her that Caleb thinks their ludicrous scheme is a great idea. "We just need to find her place and wait for her to come or go, so you can get a good look at her," Nott says.

Caleb can't think of a better course of action, so he just gazes down seriously at Nott and nods. "Ja, okay," he says, both resigned and with eagerness pulling at him, like a rope tied tight around his torso. He and Nott turn the corner, and the two of them slowly broach the side of the Nicodrani embassy.

It's a tall, statuesque building to be sure, surrounded by a thick black gate that intrudes on the crowded streets and forces people to walk a curved route to accommodate it. Inside is a glimmering garden of all kinds of flora—roses from shades of orange to the deepest of crimsons, sunflowers that arc out toward the dreary sky—and further in, a rectangular building. The outside is bricked, and to the front a lavish balcony with the curtains flowing out, outside two double doors. Lower down, there are additional double doors on the front steps.

_This is a bad idea, this is a bad idea_ , he mumbles to himself in Zemnian, feeling dread unfurl in his stomach.

"This is a great idea," Nott is repeating, the two of them peeking out of a dark alley down the turn of the street. Her voice is too confident.

They watch several people come and go, a guard stationed that opens the gate for the figures. They look… affluent, their styles of dress too bright and colourful and _opulent_ for Rexxentrum. Here, the rich favour severity. They had to be of the Nicodrani elite, but none of them matched the description he knew—a tiefling _princess_.

They wait a good while. A few give them strange looks, but they aren't technically doing anything illegal waiting down the street. Nott hides well behind a tree, and Caleb just attempts to look casual. He wonders with embarrassment if the Traveler can see them, if the Traveler finds his awkward _crossed arms and leaning against the wall_ pose funny.

At least if the Traveler is watching, the Traveler truly is a powerful archfey.

Soon enough, they _do_ spot a tiefling. Freckled and blue, riding… a _horse_. That wasn't the strange part—the white horse wore a _dress_. The tiefling wore a muddied green cloak, but underneath is an ornate layered puffy dress for herself as well, that matched the horse’s… also muddied. She plants kisses on the horse furiously, like this is the task she was put on earth to do, and she hands the horse off to the befuddled guard, saying _BYEEEEEE_ so loudly even Caleb and Nott can hear.

He thinks wryly of the wretched stable he paid a few silver to secure a place for his horse. Undoubtedly this one would receive better treatment.

The guard exhales deeply, and then locks the gate behind him, heading off for a moment.

Nott's glimmering eyes are _dangerous_. "This is our chance!"

_Their chance to get caught and thrown in jail_ , Caleb thinks, but he doesn't dare say it out loud. "Maybe I should just go—" Caleb starts to say, but then he notices the guard looking about furtively and bending down to pick up something.

Not just something. A _diamond_. It gleams in the small second between when it’s picked up and when it’s slipped inside the man’s pocket.

"The rumors really are true," Nott says in a reverent whisper. Evidently she caught the same sight as Caleb did.

That seals Caleb's fate. He _has_ to go in there. Incompletion is worse than failure, _incompletion is worse than failure._ He could never show his face without giving it his everything. "We'll go through the back. You pop a window open, and I'll slip inside. Don't let anyone see you."

Nott looks at him admiringly at the plan, but then her eyebrows furrow. "What about you?" Nott asks, wringing her hands.

"I'll be fine." Caleb snaps his fingers and his visage changes. Blue curls fall over his shoulders and a green cape flows behind him, his puffy dress as exquisite as the dress he saw just moments earlier. The dress he now imitates. "I am the Nicodranian princess after all." He tries for a weak smile.

Nott gasps, hands pinching her cheeks. "You look just like her. When you come back, you have to show me that spell." There’s a bossiness in her voice that isn’t readily apparent at first glance.

Caleb’s smile turns a modicum more real. "I will," he promises, "but we need to _go,_ Nott. This spell only lasts an hour."

Having thoroughly scoped out the embassy, they quickly discover a place Nott in her small size should be able to sneak in—a part of the building perilously close by the exterior gate, a window within reach if Caleb lifts up Nott. He holds her, arms straining, so she’s able to pick the lock and pop the window open. His arms sink with relief once she jumps in, and for the first time he’s looking up at _her_ as she says, "Are you sure you have to go in by yourself?"

Caleb nods. This way Nott didn’t have to be risked unnecessarily, and if he were to be caught perhaps she could aid him with an element of surprise. "Ja, stay safe and out of sight. I'll be fine." He hopes.

Nott disappears like a shadow and Caleb's shoulders sink in relief for a moment at her sheer _competence_. Trent would find her impressive, but just as soon as he thinks that he finds himself feeling strangely queasy at the thought of Trent and Nott meeting. It could not happen.

He approaches the gate after a good five minutes, once most of the people who witnessed the princess beforehand are well on their way and out of his view, There still is no guard there and Caleb exhales deeply, walking over and then… climbing up and over the wall. Some people _stare_ , but Caleb correctly assuages that this princess has a history of eccentricity that means that his antics do not draw too much attention. The sun stares down at him, his only true witness as he manages to hold his grip tightly to the bars and rushes down the stone pathway, the illusion of the dress swishing around his feet.

And almost _right_ into a woman. A woman with perfect red skin and dangling golden earrings that matched the tone of her eyes, her hair styled perfectly around her head such that it framed it and made her skin glow. Her red lips open, puckering into a look of surprise, and Caleb bows down messily. "My Jester," she says, reaching forward.

Caleb flinches, and at the woman's playfully wounded expression, he… coughs. It's deep under his voice. 

The woman looks aghast. "I _knew_ it, foreign disease has wrecked my child. Blud? BLUD?" Her hands move around as she talks, and then she pinches the bridge of her nose, looking to Caleb. "Head for your room, darling, I left the doors open for air out. I'll have for you some soup."

Caleb nods, remembering the balcony with the doors open. He bows his head and heads up the stairs down the hall as the woman fusses, guards attending to her. _My Jester…_ He knows tieflings name themselves and wonders what sort of person would name themselves after a fool.

Counting doors and relying on his perfect sense of direction, Caleb comes to the door that should lead to the princess's room. A well of anxiety builds in him and he tries to ignore it, but it's hard to ignore the hammering of his heart and the constant urge to run away. He couldn't turn back now. Not when he is so close to getting Trent what he wanted.

Resisting the ever present desire to just hide, Caleb opens the door. 

The princess is standing there still in her muddy clothes tapping her toes as she stares at a blank canvas. Next to the canvas is a bowl of gems. Close up, Caleb can't help but notice all the small differences between them and the little mistakes in his disguise. He is lucky that no one else noticed them.

"Mama?" the princess asks, turning around. An emerald of modest size falls to the ground and she pays it no mind. The princess gasps when she sees Caleb. "You're not mom at all, you're me!" She points theatrically to herself, and then gasps once more for good measure.

Caleb nods barely paying mind to the jewels that slipped out of her mouth. She is even more beautiful close up with her bright violet eyes and eager smile. He can feel his ever-presently tormenting sharp knife of a mind dulling at her dancing gaze.

"You're me but, you're not smiling." The princess pouts at him. "We're supposed to be happy," she says with a hint of a plea. "We don't have a reason to be sad. Why are you frowning?" She pays no mind to the jewels spilling out of her mouth except to wipe them aside. The clattering of them interrupts the quiet.

He pulls out the parasol from his coat, and it shimmers in the light. Caleb holds it out to the princess. Jester stares at it and a grin quirks at the side of her mouth.

"You're sad because your parasol is broken? How did it break?" she asks eagerly. Her hands raise up to pinch her cheeks in her excitement.

Caleb almost denies it, but there's a hunger to her that he can't resist. He holds up the parasol and pretends to huddle under it. Mimicking rainfall with his fingers, he lets out a mournful 'meerow' and then a curt 'woof'.

"It was raining cats and dogs and your parasol wasn't strong enough?" the princess says melodramatically, a giggle and a opal falling out from between her lips. "Oh no! What did you do?"

Caleb frowns for a moment, thinking. Then he brings his hand close to his mouth, making the _shushing_ motion. Jester watches him, lips quirking into a laugh, and Caleb smiles, unable to help himself. He tiptoes, his entire face flushing pink, but then the princess _claps_ , pointing at him and laughing. Caleb looks to her, widening his eyes for emphasis.

"You snuck in here!" Jester's eyes shine so bright they're radiant, and she coughs for a moment, a diamond twinkling off her tongue that falls to the ground like the rest of them. Riches pile under her. "To avoid the rain!" She gets up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. "You are _very_ lucky, me," she says with a mock-serious expression. "Because we have the cantrip _Mending_!" A spurt of green energy—like the _Traveler's_ energy—flits over the completely fine parasol and Caleb watches as she presents it, as though she'd fixed it. This elaborate charade that they're both participating in. "Thank you, and you're welcome, Jester Lavorre!"

He curtsies low and elaborately, earning another giggle. Then bowing low, he gives her the parasol.

"Oh, you were sent by the Traveler! Are you friends with him too? I mean of course you are, you're me." Jester smiles at him and his heart flutters.

_Oh…_ Caleb just sighs, his shoulders tensing again as he allows the spell to dissipate. He expects the delight in her eyes to quell at the dirty visage of him, but she just claps. As if he were a magician and this were the end of the show. _The jewels are not what makes you special. They are not what make you dangerous_. She is… frighteningly charismatic.

The princess doesn't need jewels to gain the hearts of those around her. "Hi," she breathes.

Caleb doesn’t even have the chance to say it back when green mist starts to billow on the ground. The Traveler appears, also slowly clapping his hands. Jester jumps up and down with excitement, and he boops her nose. "Hello, my dear." He turns to look at Caleb. "And as for you, I can't truly call that a prank, but you did give a laugh where it was needed most. I give it a nine out of ten. You've earned what your master deserves." He pokes Caleb's nose and shivers go down Caleb's spine.

The feeling of magic envelopes Caleb and he stares at the Traveler as the princess stares at him. "Danke," he whispers, but a strange sensation fills his mouth. Something moves on his tongue. Feet press against his lips and Caleb coughs reflexively. A toad jumps out of his mouth and lands on the ground between him and the princess.

Caleb stares with disbelief at the creature. They're warty, and one eye blinks before the other as they gaze at him. Caleb doesn't want to consider what that _means_ , doesn't want to truly believe that the weight under his tongue before he felt pressure tugging behind his throat, his urge to gag picking up, was… a toad, not a jewel.

Not a jewel.

Not like the dozens of jewels around Jester, so numerous that she has to be careful not to step on their jagged, polished corners as she walks over to hug the Traveler. Her face buries into his cloak as she coos, "I missed you!" and then her eyes widen with delight at the toad that begins to hop around her room. "Oh my gosh, so cute!" 

Caleb stares at them, betrayal written all over his face… but more than that, embarrassment flushing down his cheeks. Like it ever could've been that easy for the likes of him. Like there wasn't a permanent gate locking him out of Jester's riches, that he was too broken for a gift like hers.

His stomach drops as he considers Nott. He wonders where she is, if she's lost. He has to be here long enough for her to find him, even if he wishes to run away. "Can I have some of your jewels," he says numbly to Jester. When the princess widens her eyes, he says, "… For Nott. She helped me and now I have toads to show for it."

The Traveler watches him, and as Jester hands him the parasol, he points it to the ground and leans against it. "It's not meant as a punishment," the Traveler says dryly. "I think overtime you'll—"

Caleb doesn't want to hear it, he's just watching Jester. "She's a little goblin," he says fiercely, and then he _glares_ at the Traveler. "My master deserves toads? Will you allow me to pass anything on to a goblin who guided me to you?" .

The Traveler says, looking _annoyed_ at Caleb, like this isn't going how he intended— _join the club,_ Caleb thinks viciously—grits out, "That's up to Jester." 

Jester's gaze is doe-eyed. "Can I meet her?" she asks, and there's an eager impishness to him as she twirls, pink magic fitzing around her dress as she moves. Caleb watches the rush of layers… and thinks for a moment of a pink lollipop, smacking into a stag. "She was so _cool_ , oh my gosh."

"You saw her? You were there," Caleb says softly. "You're the one that saved us." 

"You didn't need that much saving, but yeah!" Jester flushes, chin up proudly. "I'm glad the two of you made it." Her every word is punctuated by the tinkling of jewels falling on the floor.

Caleb nods, his nerves slowing down. Now that he was paying attention, he could see all sorts of toads and snakes hopping and slithering about the floor. "Danke," he says fervently. A salamander plops out of his mouth. He shakes at the sight of it. This is not how it was supposed to happen.

"Oh, you're a big one," Jester says, picking the salamander up. "I was super freaked out when stuff first came out of my mouth too." 

"Jewels are not the same as," a hoard of millipedes crawl out of his mouth, " _these_." 

Jester shrugs and nods. "I guess not, but at least you can't chip a tooth on those." She frowns and squirms a little before sticking her tongue out with an amber on it. "They keep getting stuck. Ooh, this is a good one!" It is cloudy and cracked, but Jester smiles at it like it is a diamond the size of her fist. "You can take as many as you want of the rest, but I'm keeping this one." More and more gems each perfect spills out of her mouth, but she pays them no mind.

Caleb stares at her for a moment, and then just shakes his head. He avoids gazing at the Traveler, still glittering and ethereal and perfect leaning against his parasol, and grabs a couple gems in his blackened fingers, curling them into his palm. Each is easily more than everything his parents made their entire lives, and he feels multiple eyes on him as he straightens his back, forcing himself to look up rather than gaze stubbornly at the carpet. "Danke," he whispers, the gems cold in his hand. This would easily be enough to pay back Nott for everything she's done.

He doesn't want to think about how he has nothing for Trent. Caleb has played by the Traveler's rules so far and the creature has rewarded him with bugs—and _oh_ , he chokes out a mess of flies—and toads breaking past his lips. He's under no illusions that the fey wouldn’t be further vengeful if Caleb disobeyed his direct wishes.

He can't deny the curling anger.

Every single day since his mind broke, after… after he killed his parents—it hurts to think, and Caleb can feel every muscle taunt, can feel his teeth gritting, can feel training keeping his expression from crumpling—everyone in Trent's estate has had their fun degrading him. Astrid smiling at how muck coats his skin. Eodwulf pushing him around, manhandling his slight form. Astrid with her crumpled expression at how low he’s fallen, mixed in with some sort of clouded delight.

And Trent, of course. Trent above all.

Caleb may have failed him, but some unfettered cruelty from a stranger… because the Traveler doesn't want him to give Jester's kinds of gifts to Trent. The Traveler didn't want Trent to… to forgive Caleb, to find even the slightest bit of competence in him—

The Traveler watches him. In his head, Caleb hears, _You may hate me if you wish, Caleb Widogast_. Caleb isn't surprised he knows his name, though he thinks he should be. He's too afraid of Trent right now to fear this fey. _If it's easier hating me than hating your master_.

Caleb swears he hates the Traveler more than anyone he's ever met.

Which is when a bolt ruptures into the wall beside the Traveler's head, Nott's typical scream roaring as she crawls in through a window. Her bright eyes are furious. " _YOU CURSED CALEB_ ," she shouts.

Jester is staring at Caleb, and her violet eyes flit to the Traveler. "… Oh no," she says, sounding upset.

"Nott," Caleb gasps and a moth flutters out. He'd told her to wait for him below, but she obviously decided to take matters into her own hands. Or rather claws.

The goblin's hands are shaking as she points her crossbow at the Traveler. "Undo it. Whatever you did to him, change him back." 

"It's not so simple," the Traveler says with a lazy wave of his hand. "What he's been given is all up to him." 

"Nott, Nott," Caleb says, resisting the urge to get sick on the floor after two fat toads make their way out of his mouth. "It's fine. I'm fine." A cluster of tiny geckos tumble onto the ground with tiny squeaks.

She scowls up at him. "I'll kill him. Say the word and I'll do it." 

A chill runs down Caleb's spine. "No, you won't. Don't you draw his eye or ire. This is what I deserve, but not you." And not his master either, but that's what happens when a failure is sent out. Caleb holds out the gems Jester handed him. "Here, for you. They're not what I promised you, but they're from the princess. I owe you more than this, I know, but is this a start." Beetles scurry up to Caleb's hair. "Put down your crossbow."

"Hey," Jester says weakly, and she steps in front of the Traveler, hands splayed out. "Listen… Cayleb"—she exaggerates the first syllable, and his heart strangely stutters—"this is all a big misunderstanding, okay?" Her violet eyes are bright and the light leaking in from the windows makes them glow. The wind breezing in threads its fingers through her hair. "The Traveler is a _really cool guy_." She says it desperately, gesturing back to him.

The Traveler just smiles in turn.

"He just wants _balance_ , you know, and…" Her voice trails at the caterpillar Caleb chokes out. "Oh," she says in delight of it, and then her ears flit down as she sees Caleb's horrified expression. " _Oh_." 

"Madame Jester," he says curtly, just nodding his head in respect. He reaches for Nott's hand, and though Nott keeps her gaze trained hard on the Traveler, she follows Caleb after he tugs on it. The jewels are heavy in his other hand, and the two of them begin to walk out of his room. "Danke," he says to Jester after a moment, peering over his shoulder. More moths flit out, and tries not to look so pathetic. He gives her a weak smile. "Thank you for the gems." 

Jester blinks. "Thank you for the story," she whispers, looking crest-fallen. "Um. Visit anytime!" she announces to them.

"Yeah, right," Nott says, though her slitted eyes look with interest to all the art pieces in the room.

Caleb can see eyes on them as they leave, but Jester calls down from her floor, " _LET THEM GO, THEY ARE MY FRIENDS OKAYYYYY,"_ so no one intrudes on them. They don't come across the tiefling that appeared to be Jester's mother, and Caleb is thankful for it. He can hear Jester whisper urgently to the fey beside her, _He has such a nice chin_ , as they walk down the staircase, across the hall and through the garden. Judgement and jealousy on different faces as they pass Nicodrani royalty, and as soon as they're out the embassy and down a street alley he pulls Nott's bag close and unceremoniously dumps the jewels in, like they're cursed. They might be. "Thank you," he whispers," for everything." Shame is laced into every word.

"Are you okay?" Nott asks once more, having whispered it to Caleb’s unresponsive form through their walk several times. It’s only now that Caleb _remembers_ her talking—everything feels hazy, a dull and frightening quiet.

Caleb simply nods, not daring to open his mouth. After the infestation he let loose in the princess's room, he never wants to speak again.

"We'll kill him. We'll figure out a way to kill a fey for you," Nott says, hesitating for only a second before reaching out to hold his hands. Her ears flap and she straightens her back to her full height. Which is still not so tall. "We _will_."

A smile comes to Caleb, though his heart isn't in it. He simply shakes his head and squeezes Nott's hands. He’d rather just forget, and there’s something cruel but not undeserving about the fact that the sweet, charming Nicodrani princess is irrevocably tied to such a damned circumstance in his memory.

Nott scowls. "This isn't fair." Her raspy voice breaks at the last word and she gazes up at him as if his face might have the answers she seeks. "Princesses already have more than they need. Why can't that fey give you some too?" 

_Too much faith_ , he thinks. _Too much faith in me, Nott._ "Because," Caleb whispers, a single tiny ant crawling over his bottom lip, "this is what I deserve." More ants spill out.

"No you don't!" Nott yells, ignoring the fact that they’re _hiding_. You're smarter than that princess and you're kinder too." Caleb just looks at her sadly and that only makes Nott more incensed. " _No one else_ would be bothered with a goblin. You're better than any of them up in those towers," Nott says.

Caleb ruffles her hair, thinking of Jester’s delight with imperfect things. He thinks Jester might’ve bothered with a goblin. "You judge me too highly." Toads hop about, jumping up and down as they traverse the sidewalk. Some children shriek at them.

"You judge yourself too lowly," Nott accuses, poking him in the shoulder.

Caleb just shakes his head once more. "I'm going to my master's estate," he whispers, trying not to sound so obviously frightened. "To tell him what happened." He just sighs, biting the inside of his cheek harshly. As if that would stop the creatures from spilling out. "Nott, fairytales are not… I suppose they are not for people like me." 

Nott stares. "People like us," she says after a moment, and her sharp eyes narrow. She tugs on the lapel of Caleb's coat until he's leaning down. "I don't need _gems_ , Caleb." A pause. "I _like_ gems, they are very pretty. But I've been alone for some time now and… well." Her long, dangly ears flit low. "The last few days have been fun. We've gone on _adventure_." 

She spreads her hands out. "Maybe not a fairytale, but it felt like a _story_. Not just survival." A pause. "If you're going back to that man who sent you to get cursed… I want to go with you. I can _hide_. We can sneak out at night. You can sneak me bread." She tugs Caleb's lapel once more, her eyes fierce. "We could do some good things together."

Dragonflies bright in hue fly out with the laugh that bursts from Caleb. "We really could." For a moment he allows himself to imagine that makeshift happily ever after, the idea of Nott hiding in the forest outside Trent’s castle. Then he feels _sick_ at the thought of Nott captured, Nott experimented on, _Trent knowing about Nott._ But I can't do that to you." 

"Why not?" Something harder edges in Nott’s voice." You don't have to worry about anyone finding me and even if they did, I wouldn't tell them how I got in," Nott says. "Caleb…" Her voice breaks with his name. “ _Please_."

He doesn’t want to think about what that heartbreak and disappointment spelling out over her expression _means_. "It's a cruel place. Cold and harsh. They'll kill you." Just like they killed all good things. Just like they killed Bren—though he would never classify any iteration of him as _good_. They certainly killed the goodness _in_ Bren. Or helped Bren kill the goodness inside himself. "I'll be okay on my own." 

Nott glares at him. "You expect me to believe that? With how squishy you are? You need someone to protect you." 

"Just knowing that you're okay out here is protection enough for me," Caleb says. Snakes as green as Nott slither around Caleb's wrist like living bracelets. His eyes flit to Nott’s bag, now heavy with gems. "Take them. They should be more than enough for food and safety. Please."

"… Fine." Nott sighs. "But I want to see the end of _this_." And she just stares at Caleb for a long, _long_ moment. "I need to know there _is_ an end to this, Caleb." There's a sudden sharpness in how she speaks, and a desperateness as she claws into the front of his shirt.

Caleb feel annoyance temper into his frown. He knows it's unfair, he knows he's only this brittle because he doesn't want to think about Trent and his white and gold robes and Eodwulf's frown and vomiting out animals for them like some kind of performer at a freakshow. Which _will_ happen. And he doesn't want Nott to see him like that. " _Do what you wish_ ," he snaps. "I'm heading back. Alone." 

He turns on his heel and begins to make his way back. His dirty coat swishes, and with every step he's farther and father from Rexxentrum, from the embassy, from Nott with her tragic and indignant gaze and Jester's well-meaning smile and the Traveler's _fucking_ magic.

He tries not to think about the bitter ache in his chest.

* * *

Caleb's spine is steel. He cannot afford it to be anything else, lest he somehow break from all his instinct and training and just… bolt, like a teary child. Trent sits at his desk, lazily flipping through paperwork and purposefully letting Caleb stew. His skin always appears jaundiced, but he seems particularly sickly in the soft light that filters through the window to his office.

Not a word slipped from Caleb's mouth since he'd left Nott. His thoughts keep straying to her and wondering if she had listened to him. 

"You've returned," Trent says after exactly eighteen minutes. He doesn't bother with looking up at Caleb as he speaks, his voice quiet. The bare minimal effort put into enunciating his words.

Silently, Caleb nods postponing the inevitable. He knows how Trent will react to that, he _knows_ , but still, to have one second, just one more second—

With heavier sound than paper has earned, Trent sets down his papers and stands up. His golden and white robes shift as he stands to his full height, and Caleb can feel cool dread coiling through him as he exhales sharply. "When I speak, I expect a response. I thought you knew that." He stares down at Caleb with his eyes deceptively dulled in disappointment.

_Shiesse_. "Yes, sir," Caleb says, and promptly spits out two toads.

Trent's eyes widen as he stares at the toads on the floor. They hop about, searching their new surroundings and leaving stains along the carpet. Regaining his composure, he sniffs, waving his hand at them. "Clean those up," he says. "I take it you found the fey." 

"Yes sir." Caleb goes down to his knees picking up the toads and frogs. He has nothing to clean the mucus up with, so he uses his shirt sleeve. Rubbing desperately and thankful for the excuse it gives to avoid Trent’s gaze, he murmurs, "I did."

"Where?" Trent asks him, voice dismissive. It's more like he's operating a particularly disappointing instrument rather than talking to another person. "There were several possibilities I poised to Eodwulf."

Caleb bows his head, willing the frogs not to _ribbit_ and further ire his teacher. He feels like such a backwards fool for thinking Wulf’s little gambit would be the path towards making things right with Trent, right with himself. His teacher’s cold disapproval flips like a switch to gazing at him like he's a particularly interesting specimen, and Caleb resists the urge to wince. Interest was both preferable to and more terrifying than the disappointment "By a large oak," he says, after a description of his trek through the wilderness. "By red berries, there's a well with two twinning trees that make an entrance."

A sudden sickness hits Caleb. "But there is no guarantee it will be there, sir," he realizes numbly. "Fey magic is… tricky." He turns red under the _obviousness_ of that statement.

"An interesting way to phrase it." Ikithon comes closer to Caleb, stepping on a spider less than an inch away from Caleb's fingers. He grabs Caleb's chin and jerks it up suddenly. His skin is cold against Caleb’s, and he resists the urge to wince at the touch. "Open your mouth." 

Caleb has no choice but to obey. He only imagines that this must be how a horse on the market must feel. He resists the urge to close his eyes and hide some of his shame as he forces his jaw open.

"Say something," Trent orders, watching him carefully.

"Yes sir." Caleb nearly gags as a pair of fat frogs climb out of his open mouth. There’s momentary panic, he feels like he can’t _breathe_ , but then the frogs hop into his waiting hands.

A hum comes from Trent. "Some would consider this an insult worthy of punishment." Caleb involuntarily flinches, and the corner of his lips curls up just a little. "But I know better than to jump to such extreme measures. This is still an opportunity." Abruptly, he lets go of Caleb's face, his voice eager with the prospect of new research.

"Sir?" A fly. Caleb stares dully at Trent. He used to _idolize_ this man… but something about the way he paces, talking of opportunity in twisting fey magic… Something about this feels unhinged. Something about this feels ridiculous.

"Get up. We have research to attend to." Trent’s eyes are far away, inevitably thinking of what he’s going to put Caleb through.

He gets to his feet, his head dizzy. Everything feels light. Confusing. In a way this is what he wanted, right? Trent's favour always came in the form of… being an opportunity. Bren would've leapt at the chance to be part of Trent's research, even an insignificant part of it.

_Heh_. Well. That was a lie. _That was a lie_. Bren Aldric Ermendrud was an over-achiever. Too eager and arrogant to only ruin himself a _little_ for Master Ikithon's experiments.

He follows after Trent, down, down, _down_ , where he knows his teacher has his surgical rooms. It's been years since he's been this close to that life and now that he's going down these corridors he _remembers_. The ache in his hands feels more acute. With every step he's choking out toads, flies, keeping what he can in his arms.

When Trent turns to gaze unimpressed at the collection of obscenities in his grip Caleb tries not to shake. "Do not let your sickness ruin the sanctity of my halls," Trent hisses, and then gestures for him to go into the next room. Where the bed is, with the restraining straps.

Caleb feels himself getting pale. "Sir," he mumbles. His mind races.

A snake slithers out of Caleb's mouth and around his neck, subtly choking him. The scales slide against his skin and their footsteps echo as they enter the room. He looks around, avoiding the bed and finding a bucket to put his collection in. That’s not what the bucket is typically for, though this _is_ some kind of bile. So perhaps it falls under the purview of its intended use.

"Stop dallying. I have more important things to do today," Trent says, not even looking at Caleb. He’s reaching out for a scroll tucked into a shelve near a wall, and it snaps into his awaiting hand.

Caleb climbs onto the bed and the restraints magically wrap around his arms. He bites his lip willing himself to remain silent, memories racing and seeming to bleed into each other. He was fifteen when he first laid on a bed like this, and he’d made a joke to Trent that made his teacher smile as he snapped Bren into place.

_I admire your commitment to your demeanour_ , Trent said then, his voice soft as he pulled a loose strand of Caleb’s hair out of his face. _Stick to it, and try not to scream, ja?_

_Ja,_ Bren said back, exhaling and looking up at the roof.

Bren screamed again and again, until his voice was raw. Trent’s disappointment was more crushing than the electrocution.

"Test one. Analysis regarding whether vocalization must be verbal to receive results." Trent plunges the blade of the scalpel into Caleb's side, right where Caleb has nursed an old wound for decades on decades. It predictably elicits a guttural scream, the sound so raw and animalistic that Caleb isn’t sure for a moment that it came from him. He feels gushing warmth, wetness against his stomach from the leaking blood, and a swarm of beetles fill the room.

"Fascinating," the archmage says flatly. Caleb knows him well enough to know that the pleasure over his hypothesis and his understanding of Caleb’s body was wrestling with Caleb’s continued weakness over a torture. People trained to be Scourgers weren’t supposed to _break._

A bright arcane light flares over Caleb's eyes, momentarily blinding him. It's endless and unforgiving, and he's not sure how much time passes before he's blinking back sight. Trent feels out of focus as he says, cold voice reverberating through Caleb's ears, "Visceral reaction to visual stimuli." 

It's then that Caleb feels beetles all over his face, crawling out of his mouth and inching down his neck. He clenches his jaw, choking out the last of them, and stills as he feels Trent's thumb brush a tear under his eye away that he didn't even realize was there.

"It _has_ been a while, hasn't it, Bren," he says, tilting his head. His cold eyes glimmer and the statement, though technically a question, does not feel like one.

"Yes, Master Ikithon," Caleb whispers.

Trent pats his head like one would a faithful but silly dog. "Things have hardly changed, have they?" His fingers thread through Caleb’s hair, his touch cold and seeming to permeate through his skull.

He can feel panic in his throat, and calls on all his training to stop himself from further tearing up. His stomach still aches from the wound Trent cut into him. "No they haven't," Caleb says, wincing at the words and horny toads that came out of his mouth.

"It's good to know that your loyalties haven't changed either." Trent picks up another knife and eyes it carefully. "Because, if they had strayed," he gently places the knife in the bed close to Caleb's throat, "unpleasant things would occur." The straps on the bed undo themselves and Caleb is once again reminded of old times. Reminded of the way he collapsed into Trent’s arms after that first session, Trent patting his back as he shook. "Now, clean up that blood." He leaves without glancing back at Caleb, his footfalls and even like he didn’t just torture another living person.

Caleb sits up only once Trent is gone, a belated gasp caught in his mouth. He winces at the pain in his side and tries to ignore the lizards on him. This was exactly what he deserved, but this doesn't stop him from wondering what it would've been like if he stayed with Nott. Nott’s hands on his skin didn’t hurt. And Jester… when Jester watched him, his skin didn’t crawl.

Caleb shakes his head. The only way that would end was with Nott in a cage or worse strapped in the bed instead of him. Things were better this way; he just has to convince himself.

* * *

Caleb passes the days working. His back aches, more so than ever before—he'd forgotten the long hours strapped down during and between the experiments, forgot what it had done to his back. Bren as a child had managed to endure, but Caleb is older now and every single little indignity is catching up to him. He's always tired, even on the rare days that he manages a full night's sleep, and the other servants… they whisper around him.

_Got cursed by a fey_ , they whisper, and eyes turn wide when Caleb grabs the sack he now has tied to his belt to vomit into. The bag squirms, toads and spiders and snakes writhing and sometimes eating each other, but Caleb knows he cannot allow them to escape, cannot allow them to run unabated through his master's home.

One time Astrid found a snake in the garden—one Caleb's eidetic mind knew for a fact did not come sputtering out of his mouth. Her eyes gleamed pityingly as Trent berated him, insulted him, comforted him. _You want to please me so much that your mind lies to you,_ Trent says in a sick facsimile of kindness. _But this snake was yours._

Caleb burned with embarrassment.

Now he carries a bag.

It's one of these exceedingly dull and painful days when he hears the creak of wood behind him, in the hall where he brooms. He turns, fingers twitching out to cast _Hold Person_ —Eodwulf let him keep his spellbook, small mercies—to see… bright yellow eyes. Bright and familiar.

Dread coils in his stomach. "Nott?!"

A bright and poisonous frog hops into Nott's hands, Caleb's bag forgotten in his shock. She grins brightly at him like nothing was wrong, gently setting down the frog so it can hop down the hall. That’s a _mistake_ that will catch up to Caleb if he doesn’t run for it, but right now he’s struggling just to hold onto the broom in his shock and fear. "I found you!"

"Shhh!" Caleb hushes and this time he remembers to catch the worms. They squirm in his touch and Caleb feeds it to a snake in his shifting bag. "What are you doing here?" His mind races and he ushers Nott back into the crevice where she pulled out from, looking around for nosy servants.

"I've been looking for you," Nott says, stating the obvious. There’s so much _delight_ in her eyes as she gazes at him that Caleb finds it momentarily hard to swallow, hard to breathe, hard to stand here.

"But _why_?" His voice breaks and his eyebrows furrow. As dangerous as a place this is for Caleb, it is much more so for Nott.

"I was worrying myself sick over you." Nott twists the hem of her coat—and _nicer_ , Caleb can’t focus on it right now but her clothes are _nicer_. "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you and I wasn't there." Her ears flit low at the tension in his voice.

It'd be a lie if Caleb were to say that he hadn't been worried about her too, but he trusts the unknown dangers of the world more than Trent. The last few weeks have only emphasized why. "As you can seem, I'm fine." Several fat toads join the bag, Caleb already holding it open as he feels the intrusions inside his throat materialize.

Nott simply frowns at this, gazing at his bag and then at the rest of him. "Well, now that I'm here, you'll be _more_ fine. We make a great team." 

"Ja, we do," Caleb has to admit. He hasn't felt anything like working with Nott in a long time. 

"So I'm here to stay," she says, with far too much pleasure. And a hint of pleading, too.

Caleb sighs. He doesn't have the heart to endanger her even as much as he loves her company. "You can't. You must leave. Now." A juvenile monitor lizard crawls out of his mouth, punctuating his point.

Nott's eyes watch him carefully. "I can _not_ leave now, you're very weak on your own— _no offence_ "—her large ears flap like she means it—"you're very clever, Caleb, but when it comes to, ah, _physicality…_ " Nott's voice trails off, her voice picking up. She's curled behind a pillar, and she snaps back behind shadow as Caleb hears footfalls behind him.

They don't _approach_ him, though… He watches as Trent's attendants run across the large hall, panicked expressions all over their faces. There's mumbling between them, the straightening of their jackets, and Caleb _blinks_ , spitting out a flea before gazing down at Nott. "What happened?" he asks softly. If his voice is soft it's easier to keep it even.

Nott laughs uneasily. " _Well_." She bites the inside of her cheek. " _The tiefling found me, Caleb_ —and she's… _really_ nice! Even let me keep all the gems you gave me." Nott scratches her nose. "She wanted to see you again… and I was so worried… the two of us played detective, just a little." 

Caleb stills. "She's _here_?!" Her smile was so big, she was so… full of life. She didn't belong here, _why was she here_ —

Nott frowns. "Well, we realized even _your_ big important teacher had to accept the Nicodrani princess on an impromptu visit, you know?" Caleb runs a hand through his hair, already envisioning the ridiculous level of enchantment spells Trent could smother her with, and Nott says, hands up, "I think the Traveler will help her! The green dude! But Caleb… she told me to tell you that—" 

It's at this moment that _Sending_ hits him. _Ohmygosh Cayleb, did Nott tell you yet?!_ It's strange hearing her say his name, Caleb hasn't received a _Sending_ from someone who isn't Trent before. Something about her eagerness quells the panic rising up his throat like bile. _Come up to my room, it's the fancy guest room in the corner, come to my roooooom, Cayleb!_

"… there's a guestroom to the _corner_ ," Nott is continuing, unaware of the spell.

Caleb stares up at the hallway that curls into that room they’re gossiping about. He knows it all too well since he is the one to clean it for more than two decades. "I, I. You shouldn't be here. Neither of you. Leave as soon as you can," Caleb says, answering the Sending and addressing Nott at the same time. He feels an ounce of regret that the light in her words could only be answered with his twitchy fear. "It is not safe here." The last of the tiny lizards tumble out of Caleb's mouth and into the bag. 

"Then why are you here?" Nott asks, very nearly crossly. Her spindly arms do in fact cross.

"I don't have a choice on the matter," he snaps, hating how defensive he sounds. Hating how his words stumble over each other, hating how Nott’s eyes brighten as she sees the weaknesses in his armour. "But you do. Please, take the princess and go. She's your friend, ja?" Caleb asks. "Then take her and keep her safe." 

A serious expression is carved into Nott's face. "You're my friend too and you need more protection than she does." 

He wants to sustain his annoyance, but at her narrowed eyes he can’t help but weakly chuckle and pat her hair. It’s hard for him to begrudge this woman, her bravery is… magnetic. "The only way that I'm getting you two out of my hair is to see her, isn't it?" 

Nott grins smugly. "You can try." 

"I certainly can." Caleb straightens, but not too much. It's easy to move about if he keeps appearing to be the subservient servant that he is. No one pays mind to the countless workers who keep the academy and estates functional.

"Can you keep yourself hidden?" he asks, but he might as well be talking to the air.

"I'll be right with you," Nott whispers, in the dark, nearly causing him to jump despite expecting the response.

Caleb gulps nervously and adjusts his shirt. A part of him fears her looking upon him, despite knowing from before she didn’t wince at the dirt under his fingernails, the messiness of his hair. He wishes… godsverrdammt, he just wishes. Wishes he were something other than this. "Let's go see the princess then."

He sneaks up the staircase. Caleb feels strange, juvenile as he does, the last time he's snuck _anywhere_ was… the embassy. Impossibly his lips catch into a small smile at that, despite how the day turned out. Him and Nott, hand in hand, going to see the Nicodrani princess. It's been a while since he's been… tricky.

There was something freeing in it. Freeing in being childish, in being strange, in having fun, in making Jester laugh. Part of him longs for it even now as his hand curls around the doorknob. There are footfalls behind him, light but frequent, energetic. His heart races, and for a moment he considers letting go. Being the coward that Eodwulf and Astrid and Trent have long accustomed themselves to considering him as.

It would be easy. It would be like second nature.

Caleb thinks he's such a damned fool, but he can hear her humming a strange foreign tune. She's by no means operatic but there's something seductive in the thrill of her cheerful and enthusiastic voice regardless, and suddenly he feels the door open, his wrist shifting and his feet bringing him close. Until Jester is turning and her eyes are widening.

She's wearing a lacy pink dress, and it suits her. "HI, CAYLEB!" She pinches her own cheeks. Then she waves at Nott, sneaking in behind him. “Hi, Nott,” she whispers.

Fat rubies fall to the floor and it is hard to not be envious of her. "Princess," Caleb says plainly as a boring toad into his bag. His entire face feels like it’s on fire and he exhales softly, teeth sinking into his lower lip. He looks at her apologetically—he’d only been in this room hours before, cleaning the floors, and now he feels nervous in his dirty boots in the presence of all of Jester’s excesses.

"I've been thinking about you a lot, Cayleb," she says, either not noticing his shame or being too decent to comment on it. "Nott's had me worrying about you too." A waterfall of jewels falls from her and she pays them no mind. She steps closer to him, still keeping her distance, and Caleb at his next exhale breathes in the cinnamon of her perfume.

It’s both enchanting and dizzying. "I'm sorry to worry you, but as you can see, I am fine," Caleb says, smiling at her and gesturing to all of him. "Just trying… to get on with my life after the curse, ja?"

Jester circles him with an uncharacteristic serious look on her face, eyes running up and down his slight frame. "I can't see it. You've lost weight, haven't you? And it doesn't look like you've been sleeping well either." Nott nods in agreement, still standing close by the door, and he feels a stab of betrayal.

Caleb can feel his face redden and turns away, eyes fixating on a pillow on the bed. The embroidery is far too intricate. "I'm doing well enough." 

"Cayleb!" He blinks, startled at the heat behind his name. She says it like she _loves_ saying it, and no one has treated his name created out of humiliation with so much care before. "You don't have to lie to us. We're friends." Jester grabs his hands with hers and grins. "Friends care about each other. We care about you." 

Caleb can feel his bitter envy dry up just a little at her evident concern. Despite her affluence it seems like people like him, people like Nott, still… _matter_ to her. And as much as he’s undeserving of it he feels like a sunflower arcing towards the light. "Danke, but there is nothing you can do." 

"I can buy your contract and give it to you," she suggests, watching him carefully. "You don't have to stay here."

"It's not like that," Caleb says. It is far more complicated than he could explain to her. The reasoning is winding and broken and he doesn’t want to think about it for too long before his brain begins to crack open under all the pressure of these last few years.

"Then what is it like?" Nott gently probes.

Caleb stares at the two of them, feeling unfairly cornered. Their bright eyes on him catch his every twitchy movement, every catch of his breath. "We're not friends," Caleb tells Jester, attempting to side-step the question before it strangles him. Jester's lower lip pulls into a pout, her eyes wide and tragic, and a blush works over Caleb's cheeks. "A-ah, I mean… not like that, I just… _Schiesse._ " He threads his fingers through his hair as Jester smooths out the wrinkles in her dress. "I am just a stranger who snuck into your home, Madame Lavorre, I have just complicated your life since I've entered it."

" _Cayleb_ ," Jester says, her eyebrows furrowing. She wags her pointer finger at him. "Don't say that! You made me _laugh_ , you know… usually it's the other way around… and people don't really visit me much…" Her voice trails as she coughs out a pearl, and Caleb finds himself stricken at her pointed ears flitting low. "That was so much, that was everything… and because of you I met my new best friend Nott—"

"We're going to start a detective agency together," Nott informs him. Caleb once again eyes her nicer clothes, and this time Nott blushes as she notices Caleb looking. "I went shopping. Don't worry, I didn't pay for any of them." 

"Nott," Jester breathes with approving delight.

Caleb laughs softly under his breath. This entire situation is so strange, and it's amazing how a room this dreary can fill with so much _life_ with the two people in it. The last time… the last time it was Astrid and Eodwulf…

"Because of you I went to town," Nott says. "I was too afraid on my own." Her face becomes very serious and she pulls Caleb to a chair, hand on his thigh pushing until he sits. "I think you're a good person. Or at least, you're good to everyone that _I_ have met."

"This, this is not a question of goodness, but of safety. I would never be able to live with myself if anything were to happen to either of you." Butterflies fill the room. "I wish I was naive enough to believe your claims of my goodness, but the danger of my situation trumps everything." 

Jester lightly takes his hand again. "Even if you are bad, we can save you."

His other hand is taken by Nott. "We will no matter what." 

"How?" Both women are amazing, but Caleb knows better than to burden them with his troubles. They are strong, but no one is that strong.

"I'll marry you," Jester says, giggling as she says it. A flush works itself over her face. "No one would dare harm the princess's betrothed."

And it is as if all air left the room.

Caleb sputters, causing a wasp to fly out his face. "W-w _ait_ , what—how would you— _why_ —" His entire face is completely red now, and Nott chuckles at his face. Clearly the two of them have been thinking about this for some time. "That is an _incredible_ measure… to go through… for a stranger…" He wants to scratch his arms, but he doesn't want to draw _attention_ to them.

"It could be fun, you know?" Jester pokes his nose. "Like a prank! But it's on everyone. I know you don't like the magic the Traveler gave you, honestly he can be such a dick sometimes—" 

"Shady fucker," Nott says agreeably.

Jester gives Nott a deathly glare. "He's a _really cool guy, I told you Nott._ " Nott's ears flit low apologetically and then Jester gazes back to Caleb with a happy smile. "But if we do a really big prank, maybe he'll be… happy with you? And then you won't vomit out frogs anymore." She sighs. "Though frogs are really awesome." 

"Not in your mouth," Caleb says gently and Jester's cheeks turn a ruddier blue. He laughs softly, still furiously blushing. "It's true, the Traveler likes pranks…" He sighs. "He was upset… about my loyalty to my teacher…" 

Nott's eyes sharpen and Caleb realizes his fatal mistake in bringing the conversation back to Trent. "When you're _here_ you don't sleep or eat enough," Nott says, poking his shoulder. "He treats you like garbage, even if you don't want to say it—" 

" _Nott_ ," he hisses, and he's scratching his arms, he's doing it, his skin _aches_.

"And if you gave him more jewels, more magic, more _wealth_ , then he'd just keep treating people like shit! It's not fair."

"It's not balance," Jester says, as if having a realization. "Oh." Jester reaches for her bag, and Caleb finds himself missing her touch. His arm has to tense so he doesn't seek it out once she leaves. She pulls out the glittering green parasol and looks to Caleb determinedly. "You haven't felt balanced in a really long time, Caleb." She says it as a statement, and he feels completely, viscerally _seen._

She twirls the parasol in her hand, and for a moment she looks like the Traveler. Even more powerful, even. Violet eyes gaze at him. "One time a mean old man named Robert Sharpe of Nicodranas needed to be taught a lesson. You remember him?" 

Caleb remembers. His eyes turn wide. "He was humiliated when it was revealed he was having an affair…" 

Jester laughs. "I didn't like how he treated people. So I locked him out of the balcony. It was so funny." Something about that word is so intimidating at this moment. "It can be a wedding, or it can be any trickery that you desire. Because this is about how he was a dick to _you_. But Caleb…" She raises an eyebrow. "Balance is important. Bad people deserve bad things. Doesn't Icky-thong deserve some of his own medicine?"

He nods his head without a second thought, choking on his laugh at that ridiculous bastardization of his name. "Ja, he does, but my master is too powerful for the likes of us. Even a princess. I wish there was a way for us to give him his own medicine, but the kind of power that would take is that of the gods." 

"Of the gods you say." A familiar lilting voice fills the room, along with that green mist. Like a rockstar entering a stage.

Caleb turns to see the Traveler sitting on the bed, jaw clenching as he takes in the visage of the smug deity laying there like they were all about to paint him. Jester claps her hands. "Traveler! You're here!" 

"Of course I am. You don't really think I could resist knocking someone off of a horse so high, did you?" The Traveler smiles, his teeth all a gleam, and Caleb wishes he could hide as well as Nott.

"It's impossible," Caleb says again, a gecko and a chameleon spilling out of his mouth. Jester plucks them up and holds them like they are precious. "My master, Trent Ikithon, is not a man to be trifled with." The Traveler rolls his eyes at Caleb’s worry and Caleb glares at him before turning to look at his disciple. "And as for a wedding, trickery or not, Jester you deserve better. The jewels from you and the vermin from me should be enough to show you the gap between us." 

The Traveler sighs, nearly pouting. He crosses his legs, perching on the side of the bed. "You truly are a stubborn one. But I suppose with a master like yours, it's how you survived."

Caleb bristles. He hates the knowingness under the Traveler's verdant gaze. "We breathe by his principles in this estate," he says, looking away from the Traveler and trying to find a pair of eyes he can latch onto. He ends up staring into Jester's perfect violet, flecked with soft pinks. "We live and die by his favour, I can't just…" He feels weak, _helpless_ —

He remembers thundering fire, the stag that dug into Nott. He remembers the pink lollipop that disrupted the passage of time, the way he and the little goblin he met in the forest were previously ricocheting towards inevitable death. His mind fights itself in this moment—between his inherent… need to believe in his mentor's perfection of power, of judgement, and the desire to give Jester Lavorre every exact thing she wanted. To reward her faith in him, even though she shouldn’t have any.

Jester is reaching out to grab his hand and he realizes she's interrupting his scratching. "I think," Jester murmurs, a diamond clattering to the floor and chipping into the wood, "that Icky-thong is going to knock on my door soon. Not _too_ soon, he'll keep me waiting probably. But soon enough. I feel like pulling a prank on him, Cayleb, but I don't want to get you in _trouble_." 

Nott picks up the diamond stealthily, and it's only the twitch of the Traveler's elegant eyebrow that alerts him of it. Nott grimaces at him and the Traveler just smiles privately to himself. 

"But don't _you_ … want to get in some trouble?" Jester continues. "I saw you and Nott sneaking around in the forest, the Traveler told me you had _fun_ with the pranks you pulled in there." Jester sighs, gesturing to the room. "Everything here is so _ordered_ , don't you just… sometimes want to go… you know? Apeshit?" She smiles.

Caleb coughs and turns away. What she offers is tempting, so incredibly tempting. "I must know my place." He wishes it was with her, to be forever at her side. Marriage is too big of an offer, but even to be her servant was more than he could take. Risking a glance at her and her pout, he feels his resolve crumble. "But yes, sometimes I do." 

Jester giggles showering the floor with chips of gems. "I knew it!" And the smile she gave him was more precious than all the jewels on the floor. "I have just the prank." She then skipped over to the Traveler and whispered in his ear, her dress bouncing with her every movement. The way the fey grinned didn't sit right with Caleb—too arrogant, the Traveler was _too arrogant_. "You can watch, Cayleb," she says over her shoulder, "but you'll need to hide. I'll keep you safe." 

His heart rising up in his throat, Caleb nods wondering if all princesses have this effect on people. He doubts it. "Ja, okay." He tries to quell the uncomfortable feeling twisting in his gut. "Nott," he whispers, the phrasing of it both an attempt at a question and also just an assurance to himself. 

"I'll keep you safe too," Nott says, pulling out her crossbow. There’s already a bolt ready and loaded, and it glints sharply in the visible light.

"Under the bed will be the best place for the show," the Traveler says, and Caleb is silently grateful that he took the care to carefully sweep under the bed. He hides underneath, his back hurting at the posture, and Nott shifts inside much more easily. Once Caleb and Nott are in place, the Traveler snaps his fingers and suddenly _he_ is Caleb, though his posture is too proud and his expression too charming, too seductive.

Oh. _Oh_. Caleb inhales and exhales slowly, counting his breaths. He can see Nott's gleaming eyes, and slowly feels Nott's hand holding his in the dark. Her skin is rough, but so is his, and he curls his fingers so tight he thinks it would be a death grip were he not so waifish. "Hey, Nott," he whispers, as Jester giggles excitedly and the Traveler runs a hand through his—Caleb's—hair. His movements look so elegant, so refined, and Caleb is suddenly insecure of himself, of the messy patchwork of his existence.

"Yeah?" Nott whispers back, curling closer to him. He can feel the heat radiating off her form, familiar to him at this point. The thought of that is both terrifying and a comfort.

The next words are traitorous. "Thank you for coming back for me." Each word sounds brittle, feels broken. He blinks—and yes, that's wetness in his eyes. Undoubtedly visible to Nott.

He feels his face flood with warmth as he feels Nott kiss his cheek, careful not to scrape his skin with her teeth. "Anytime, Lebby."

A knock sounds at the door and Caleb can feel his heart stop. Jester brushes out the skirt of her dress and goes to the door, still eager, still excited. Caleb can only see her legs and three sets of feet on the other side of the door. One is undoubtedly Master Ikithon’s, given the actual feet are not visible due to his expansive robes, but the other two he has trouble placing. Perhaps Vollstreckers, perhaps diplomats… "Good evening, Princess Jester." If nothing else, Caleb is bitterly amused at the fact that Trent has to say the word _jester_ with respect in his soft tone. I hope you find your accommodations suiting," Master Ikithon says.

"Suiting for what is my question." It's Caleb's own voice, but he did not speak. The Traveler's impression of him was more perfect than Caleb had expected, the archfey effortlessly mimicking his intonations..

"What are you doing here?" Ikithon demands, his voice a sharp hiss. "I told you to rake the northern courtyard after you were done with the halls." Caleb’s jaw works itself—he can feel Trent working out the strange puzzle they’ve set before him, can feel his sharp eyes running through the room.

"I invited him here," Jester practically chirps, and she steps even closer to the Traveler. So close that she must be leaning against him, practically.

The Traveler huffs out a soft laugh and Caleb _winces_. He’s going to know, _he’s going to know_ , Caleb thinks frantically. "I am her betrothed after all." 

Caleb hisses, a thin garter snake passing from his lips, but the ruckus Ikithon and his party makes fortunately covers up the sound. Of course the Traveler decided to ham up the role and be dramatic about it. His heart practically seizes with fright, he can see Nott looking sideway at him with concern.

"What makes you think that you are worthy of her?" Ikithon asks, acid dripping from his tone. His voice is controlled and turns nearly friendly by the end of it. Inviting Jester to open up to him. Like he isn’t dangerous, like his care isn’t poison.

"Caleb makes me laugh, he puts others first not caring what will happen to him, and," the princess leans forward on her tiptoes, "he has a very cute chin." 

Master Ikithon sputters and Caleb feels his face growing red. _Does she really mean all those things?_ his mind uselessly wonders for just a second, but soon even that trail of thought turns blank. Caleb looks slowly to the floor and freezes. Making its way across the floor is the garter snake, scales gleaming in the light. And so far not a _single_ frog had fallen from the Traveler's lips. He could only hope that Ikithon didn't notice their sudden absence or put things together.

But even at that half-hearted prayer he knows he’s deluding himself. Trent’s eyes _sharpen_ , and something in Caleb's gut clenches. _Scheisse, Scheisse, Schiesse_ , he fumbles with the wire in his pocket, trying frantically to cast _Message_. Before it's too late, he's thinking, but then Ikithon smiles in that pleasant way he does before house guests, and simpers, "Well, we should toast this blessed union, of course," he says softly, gesturing for them to cross the threshold of the doorway and therefore pass him.

Caleb _shivers_ as the two of them do so, one of the pairs of feet moving away and out of sight to give them space, Jester's eyes bright in the presence of her god and the Traveler too proud in the set of his shoulders. _He knows_ , Caleb hisses into the cantrip, and he only notices Jester's eyes widening for a moment before Trent is closing the door behind them.

There's a soft pause, and then a scream behind the door. A soft feminine shriek, the kind that would belong to Jester, and Caleb is pulling out of the bed, eyes _wild_ as Nott cocks her crossbow. Arcane glyphs decorate the doorway, locking them in, and Caleb hisses a curse under his breath before freezing.

The runes glimmer a dull blue, and that isn't the colour of Ikithon's magic.

He turns, to see Eodwulf sitting on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Wulf says calmly, and with a twist of his fingers a magical blade digs into his chest, blood sputtering over the floorboards. There's muffling _quiet_ behind the door now, and Caleb stumbles to his knees and blinks at the pain as Nott embeds crossbow bolt after crossbow bolt into Eodwulf's chest.

"It's hopeless," Eodwulf says, and there's a strain to his voice now. He tries to cast _Hold Person_ on Nott, and Caleb, instinctually, like it's second nature— _Counterspells_.

The magic rips from his palms and it's brutal as it tears into Eodwulf's magic, right until Wulf is slamming into the wall and staring with wide and hateful eyes at Caleb. "Still think you're special, huh?" he shouts, blood running down his face from the force of the impact, and then snarls as Nott slams a crossbow bolt right in his eye, knocking his head back. He pulls it out slowly, blood sputtering on the mage clothes that never fit him well, and Nott—she just smiles.

"I believe in you," she says to Caleb. "You're a better wizard than him, because you have something you want to protect." 

Caleb stares at the locked in door. "Danke, Nott," he whispers, because for the first time in several miserable decades he feels… something in his heart stir. No longer content to bend his back in forever service.

He looks back at her and smiles, eyes tracing over her face. It’s not because he thinks he won’t see her again—for the first time in a while he doesn’t feel complete and abject fear at the thought of fighting these people, in the mercy of their sheer magical prowess. "You're a better wizard than him too. I can’t _wait_ to teach you _Disguise Self._ " 

“I figured it out by myself,” Nott says, training her gaze back at Eodwulf. Her entire face is flushing, something like pride colouring her voice.

Caleb is smiling helplessly as he looks back to the door and casts _Dispel Magic._

Part of him expects it to fail, for Wulf’s magic to be too powerful for Caleb to go against. He’s spent so long being reminded of how he’s dirt, how he’s nothing… but sure enough, the blue binding on the door dissipates and Caleb is running, nearly throwing open the door.

Ikithon is not far past that door, his hand around Jester's throat. Bloody tears run down Jester's face and she is unnaturally stiff against the magic forcing her into subservience. The Traveler himself is floating in the air, bound up in magical golden chains that seem to emanate from the ground, and a gag covering his mouth. He glares daggers at Trent and Caleb shares the feeling.

"You bastard," Caleb snarls, summoning fire in his hand. The words are immediate instinct, seeing these two like this makes a dull sort of rage coat over his thoughts.

His former master seems surprised at first, an eyebrow raising and eyes fractionally widening, but he recovers from it quickly. "I would tread carefully if I were you. After all, you wouldn't want my hand," Ikithon reveals a blade in his over hand with a flourish, "to slip. Not while I'm working on your precious betrothed." 

Caleb freezes. "Don't," he whispers, the single word a curse and pleading all at once. The fire that always burns inside of him flickers.

"If I recall correctly, I'm the one who issues the orders here. Isn't that right, Astrid?" Ikithon asks. His voice sounds very nearly bored, the hand on Jester’s shoulder reaching out to idly play with her hair. Jester tries to crane her head out of his touch but of course his magic denies her even that basic level of autonomy.

This is an indignity that Caleb is painfully familiar with—one he never wishes to have shared with her.

Astrid is of course behind him, previously invisible. "That's right, sir," she says with a smirk.

Caleb feels himself still staring widely at Jester, unable to pay the _former love of his life_ the barest sort of attention. Her terror scares him to the core, her entire body shaking despite the bravado of her squared shoulders, and he takes in the others in the hall. Looking to the Traveler, a momentarily bemused expression interrupting the terror. _Really?_ he thinks, _you're a fey_.

Then he forces himself back at Jester's enraged expression. "Jester," he says, softly. "Ohhhh, Jester, I'm— _Scheisse_ , I'm sorry, please…" 

"Weak," Astrid says softly. Her lower lip juts out. "Br— _Caleb_ "—she spits out his new name like it's an insult—"you're so… weak." And then her expression shelters into something more vulnerable. "Let go of this charade, Caleb, the curse you've been fed… it has its uses. And so does this princess you've brought us." She looks to the shackled Traveler and he stares down at her with utter contempt, his green eyes _flashing_.

Trent tuts, smiling at the Traveler. "Fey are too arrogant these days. I've been studying the texts for so long, I knew how to entrap you. Now you bend to my will, so many experiments to conduct indeed…" His voice turns a little breathless, that edge to it that made Caleb tense before in his office. He gazes at Trent for a long moment. _You’re not a genius_ , he thinks, his heart racing as Trent’s eyes appear… detached for a moment from the rest of his expression. Unfettered glee plays out over his thin lips. _You’re insane_.

Jester _snarls_ a curse, causing Trent to dig the knife further into her neck until blood starts to drain down. Her face tears up, wetness streaking down her lovely face, and Caleb’s heart breaks at her trembling breath, as she attempts to even out the flashes of pain in her own mind.

His mind races for any ideas, any way _out of this_ , but he comes up frighteningly blank. The only thing he can think to do is kneel and plead and cowardly beg for his life, playing into Trent’s and Astrid’s notions of him, but he feels like Jester might hate him forever if he does.

Be alive to hate him.

"Please, sir, I encouraged them. She's just… a weak-willed princess," he _lies_. The Traveler raises an eyebrow at that and Jester cocks her head, breaking the spell just a little. Some of her hair covers her shoulder as pain rages in her expression. It’s _hell_ insulting her, even for her life, but when their eyes meet her own widen.

Wise, so very _wise_ , that Lavorre. His heart swells with fondness. "The fey tricked her," he continues, "and once you remove the enchantments fully she will comply with you and no incident needs to be reported based on my short-sighted missteps, sir." He stares at Trent and allows desperation to twist his face. " _Sir, she could be so helpful to your goals_ ," he whispers in Zemnian, imitating Bren’s effortless eagerness to please.

Trent stares at him, cold eyes seeming to pierce into his soul. "Her memory was always going to be altered, my boy," he says, almost warmly. The dagger further into her neck, and his expression just seems _curious_ about how much she can take. Wetness only further pools in Jester’s eyes and her lower lip trembles. "Good things will come of this in due time, of this I have no doubt." 

Caleb wonders how Astrid cannot feel _sick_ at the mention of altered memories. Trent's gaze is too knowing despite the subtlety of his words, and Caleb just gazes at Jester, his expression breaking. He whispers, "I'm so sorry." 

Jester smiles at his distress. "Cayleb," she says gently, "it's okay." The absurdity of those words in this situation makes him want to scream until his throat is bloody and raw. "I'm only sad I didn't get to see your kitty." Her face turns tragically broken up at that word, her furrowed eyebrows and jutted out lip a facsimile of unknowing innocence, and suddenly Caleb's mind no longer feels blank. Suddenly the answers feel obvious in front of him.

_Only in the Feywild are the fey truly free…_ Caleb remembers the Traveler’s words from all those weeks ago, finding the amused fey by the well. It’s as if she was suggesting summoning Frumpkin could _free_ him somehow.

If the gambit fails Astrid will knock him unconscious if not kill him outright. He stills, looking at Jester and the charade she’s pulling, and she mouths, softly, _desperately_ , a gentle _please_.

He is unable to deny Jester Lavorre _anything_. 

Caleb snaps his blackened fingers, and as Frumpkin appears on the Traveler's shoulder he prepares for Astrid’s inevitable strike into his back, which does indeed bring him thudding down to his knees. He can feel spasming pain as he crumples low, but the fey cat purrs and rubs up against the Traveler who simply stares at it.

Trent sneers as Astrid’s hands find his throat. She leans down, lips nearly sensual against his ear as she sighs, _Stupid boy_. One of her main insults when things were rough between them, Astrid’s eyes flashing as she threw a _Poison Spray._ Hissing that he’s just a _stupid boy_. "Put that silly plaything away," Trent hisses. "Really, a princess bats her eyes and you forget where your loyalty lies." 

"Sorry, sir," Caleb says, hissing at the pain as Astrid purposefully digs her knee into the wound Trent cut into him when he first arrived with the news of the curse. The pain is flashing and it nearly makes him snarl as he snaps his fingers again. 

There is a lovely flash of verdant green, impossible and ethereal—and when Caleb blinks back the light, he can see the arcane chains clattering to the floor, both Frumpkin and the Traveler gone.

"Where did… " The question trails and Caleb watches dully as understanding dawns over his crazed expression. "You… _you_ …” Hate and a sick sort of pride twists in his words and he drags the knife down Jester’s throat until blood is pouring down the front of her dress. Jester’s scream is strangled, raw, and Trent hisses to Astrid, "Finish him." 

Astrid starts to step forward, but then she freezes as she looks down at herself. Green magic shimmers and swivels like ribbons coalescing in the air, and Caleb stares as where Astrid once stood there remains… only a shrew.

Trent stares at the animal with disbelief, a _Counterspell_ trying to twist into the air that fitzes just as soon as it leaves his fingertips. "You'll regret that, boy!" Trent shouts, fingers digging into Jester’s shoulder so hard that it leaves bruises.

"Actually, that was my doing," the Traveler softly, the delicacy a complete farce as he stares at the archmage with utter and complete hatred working along the angles of his perfect brown face. His red hair gleams in the air like fire and Jester is pushed by some unseen force out from Trent’s grip, the Traveler simply making a small motion with his elegant fingers.

Trent stares at him and attempts to cast a spell, but with another wave of the Traveler's fingers, his arms snap to his sides, locked into place. "Now," the Traveler murmurs, looking over to Caleb and Jester with his eyes darkening as he takes in Jester’s bloodied neck and chest, "what kind of punishment do we think he deserves?" The Traveler essentially _snarls_ that last word out.

Caleb stumbles toward Jester, reaching for a rag to try to clean some of the wounds. Jester chants healing spells at the two of them, tears still clouding her eyes, and he feels warm tendrils encompass them both, some of the red along Jester’s neck drying. He can’t even make himself _look_ at Trent. “Ohhhh, Jester,” he whispers, and she bursts into complete tears as she wraps his arms around him. Caleb can feel the wetness from before returning with a vengeance in his own gaze, an arm wrapping around her waist.

Trent's eyes glitter intelligently. "I see you've found yourself a new master," he hisses, and runes fitz around the room, even as his arms are tense unnaturally beside him. Caleb recognizes the teleportation magic that the Traveler undoes just as quickly, the parasol flying out of the room they were in and snapping back into his hand. " _Bren_ , think about what you're doing," his teacher says. "There's still so much to be learned…" 

Caleb freezes, staring at the shrew where there once was Astrid. He can hear Eodwulf dying in the other room, can hear the slide of Nott's crossbow with each bolt firing off with terrifying precision. He can feel his heart beating quick, the pulse basically leaping out his throat, and his mouth opens and closes quickly and silently.

Jester looks up at him, still locked in their embrace and intertwining her fingers in his. "Pick something _funny_ , Cayleb," she says, thumb running over her knuckles. Her eyes are glassy. "I want to laugh and laugh at him."

Caleb exhales shakily as Nott curls out the room, holding her crossbow still. Her eyes dart between everyone and Caleb gives her a small smile before looking at Trent steadily. He remembers the syringes, the way he treated all three of them. A part of him does ache for what's become of Astrid, and Wulf, and him, the way Trent treated them all like… like—

"A rat," he says, his voice a bare whisper.

Trent smiles, as if sensing Caleb's thoughts. "Maybe you weren't so thoroughly dis—" 

The Traveler snaps his fingers between the sentence, and then pinches up a writhing old rat in his hand, and Caleb's empty stare at the small pathetic creature is interrupted by Nott's _gasp_.

"If you can turn things into other things," she says, "you can change them back?" Her eyes are shining, her voice desperate. She cocks her head at Caleb. "Remember when I said I needed to know that… cursed like yours could end?" Caleb feels something cold digging into his mouth, and his eyes widen as he pulls out a verdant emerald from between his lips.

Nott gestures to her goblin face, her fingers pulling low her lips to expose her sharp teeth. " _Please_ ," she tells the Traveler, eyes wild. "You could do this, you could do this so _easily_ …"

"Hmm, that is a large order," the Traveler says, frowning at the rat and then looking down at Nott. Slowly he smiles, gesturing to the three of them. "But you already have what you need to end your curse." 

" _BULLSHIT_ ," Nott yells, storming up to him. As she does Jester just threads a hand through her own hair, softly curling out of Caleb’s arms to wrap her arms around herself. "I'm not buying that 'oh, the power was within you the whole time' garbage! None of that 'oh, I knew the answer the whole time, but didn't want to give it to you' snot! You're going to give me a straight answer!"

A cold fear grows in Caleb along with the immense fondness growing inside his chest at his… friend, they’re _friends_ , but the Traveler merely chuckles. "Actually, I was talking about him." The Traveler points at Caleb, the parasol flying through the air and into his grip. He then points at Caleb with the parasol, and slowly a scroll unwinds into reality into his grip. "You and I are similar spirits, and she needs a mage to cast it," the Traveler hums. "Let’s make a deal, Caleb Widogast."

Caleb stares at him with wide eyes, and then reads the scroll, eyes hungrily running over the words. The equations feel at once far too intricate and advanced for him and yet also something he might’ve read as a boy, an enchanting fairytale that kept his attention one of those lazy afternoons with the original Frumpkin curled up beside him. It’s a thoroughly generous gift, a pathway back to the past offered, and the Traveler’s eyes glimmer. "This will work," he whispers.

"It will?" Nott asks breathlessly. Her eyes watch his face carefully and Caleb recognizes the expression. Stubborn, fearful hope, after a lifetime of torment. He and Nott are so similar, it’s incredible they both found themselves drawn to the Traveler, to that stag, to Jester.

"Ja, it will. I wasn't strong enough before, but I think I can make it work," Caleb says, tapping her nose. Of _course_ Nott was a person transformed—slowly the subtle clues start to fold into place, the mystery of her complete. 

Jester claps her hands, a false sort of cheer over the curve of her lips. There’s something brittle in her smile, and Caleb thinks it’ll be that way for a while. His heart aches for her but he doesn’t wear it over his face—he thinks that above all would make her flinch. "What's stopping you then?" she inquires.

" _Wait_ ," Nott says, and then she tackles Caleb into a hug. Jester watches them, a hungry sort of tinge in her expression as Caleb hugs Nott back. "Thank you."

"I should be the one thanking you," Caleb whispers, holding her tight against him before letting go. He exhales deeply, through his teeth. Everything feels sparkling, fitzing, and as he unrolls the scroll and casts the spell, he can hear the Traveler humming in his mind. _This means you and I are forever connected, Caleb Widogast_.

Caleb looks at Jester, and then at Nott. _Sometimes being connected is not so bad_ , he admits to the Traveler, to himself, to the creature under his skin.

There's something of a green flash once as the arcane phrases rip through his tongue, everything whirring and bright and terrifying. He can feel the essence of himself beginning to be tied to the Traveler in a similar sort of way that Jester is, though wholly different, and suddenly green seems to fill him completely, the energy nearly choking out of him as it spreads through the room like wildfire. A sacred sort of flame, and everything is glowing, _everything is glowing—_

And then, standing where the goblin once was, is a beautiful fat halfling, braids framing her brown face and eyes the most perfect shade of brown, amber in the light. She wears the beautiful coat Nott wears, no longer loose around her, and she gazes up at Caleb with disbelief. Nott—no, _whoever_ this stranger calls herself—then tackles him once more into a huge hug. Caleb collapses into the ground right beside her, head buried into the crook of her neck as she cries. The two of them shake together.

The Traveler leans against his parasol against the ground, letting go of the rat and watching with dancing eyes as the shrew begins to give chase. He whistles low under his breath, winking at Jester, and _Jester_ … 

She looks at Caleb and Nott uncertainly, something unsure and vulnerable in her expression. Caleb thinks for a moment she looks uncharacteristically small. She's always been slight but her personality has been so _large_ , so all-consuming… but even titans need help. Even titans need a push.

He holds out his hand for her, and Jester's eyes widen. "Oh…" She reaches out hesitantly, and Caleb pulls her into the embrace.

There's a steady flush over her cheeks, and she puts her arms around Caleb's waist, Nott between the two of them. "You spit jewels like me," Jester sniffs, her own eyes wet. "I guess you're a pretty cool person then, if the Traveler gave you that gift." 

"Can confirm!" the archfey says, lazily inspecting the hall.

Caleb laughs wetly. "What are you going to do now? I can't imagine you'd still… want to spend time in Rexxentrum after all this." His heart twists as he imagines Jester leaving the drab Empire, even though she deserves all the sunlight the coast has to offer. 

"Detective agency," Nott reminds them, peering up, and Jester giggles.

"Detective agency," she confirms.

They all fall into a solemn quiet, just holding each other, and somewhere in the embrace Jester's hand intertwines in his. Private and sure, yet something trembling about her touch. 

Caleb closes his eyes and squeezes her hand back.

Something about the future feels bright.

* * *

Time goes by as it always does and life takes a new shape for Caleb. It always tends to, and the last few months he’s found himself staying with Jester… in her ornate palace… in the coast. It’s still something that feels impossible to think about, and so some days he doesn’t. He allows himself to breathe in the moment. Jester’s mother is lovely, if slightly too knowing of Caleb every time Jester calls for him and everything in him seems to unspool for her.

Moments like now. " _Cayleb_!" Jester calls out from her room.

He still finds it hard to believe that a princess would want him to stay in her palace and not expect him to polish a thing. "Ja?" Caleb pokes his head through the door, leaning against the doorframe. He smiles as he gazes at her, looking at him over her perfect exposed freckled shoulder "Can I help you?" 

"Oh no, I just wanted you to see what I'd make this time," Jester says grinning. She holds up a large piece of amber. "I think it's my favourite." 

"It's too big for your mosaic though," Caleb points out. Since they'd taken care of Trent, Jester has been gathering the jewels they speak of and using the so-called 'best ones' to make a picture. They haven’t fully… talked the whole mess through yet, Caleb doesn’t know how to and Jester doesn’t know how to either. Marion suggested perhaps a therapist, eyeing the two of them, and… it’s not a bad idea. But for right now, they’ve found their little ways of coping. Caleb stays indoors, away from the muck of insects and pests, and Jester works on her art with their gems.

She usually prefers using the ones that Caleb speaks.

Jester shakes her head at him, her hair shifting with the movement. "This is too _special_ for that." She says it like the intrinsic specialness of it is obvious. "It's to remind me of you."

Caleb immediately flushes red. He does that often these days, and Jester sometimes teases him about it. He walks forward, outstretching his hand, and Jester in turn drops it into his palm easily. That too is strange, nearly a crawling sensation up his spine. To just be treated like an equal… 

He holds it up to the window and streaming through it is the afternoon light in the most _honeyed_ hue. It runs all over Jester's skin and she giggles, twirling around as soft music plays with her _Thaumaturgy_. Caleb can feel his heart stutter just a little, but thankfully his grip tightens rather than loosens on the gem. " _Beautiful_ ," Caleb is mumbling, like a poor sap in some romantic novel, and Jester, eyes gleaming like she was _waiting_ for it, pounces on him until they're both collapsing into the couch, her on top of him.

"That was in Zemnian," she crows, "but I've been learning some Zemnian, _Cayyyyleb_." _Scheisse_. His face must look like it's on fire, and Jester's eyes sparkle mischievously. "I think the gem is very beautiful too." Her hands rest on his chest, and he wonders if she can feel his heart thudding.

"You have excellent taste," he stutters.

Her eyes trace over the strands of loose red hair falling forward over his forehead. "I love amber," she says softly. "And reds… like your hair! They both glow so pretty in the sunlight." 

"Nothing glows as bright as you," he says, his words falling into the easy rhythm of their conversation. Their back-and-forths these days always seem to have a strange, exciting tension like this. Caleb keeps expecting her to throw him to the curb but she keeps coming closer, always. Like she can never have enough of him.

The thought is absurd but she's leaning down, face close by his own. "I'm glad you're my friend," she says, poking his nose.

His heart flutters at her every touch, but there is a sting of disappointment. Friends were all they were going to be and he is a fool to wish for more. "Ja, friends. Me too." Three small topazes fall into his hand. "Can you use these?" 

Jester picks the stones up and eyes each one carefully. "This one." She holds up the cloudy and cracked topaz.

"But it's broken," Caleb says, smiling at her intense expression.

"That means it just needs extra care and is special. Kinda like you." The princess grins easily like it's nothing to say such soft words. Like she wasn't on top of him and they weren’t unbearably close.

It's hard for Caleb to think clearly like this, but he'd never dare to ask her to move. If they just stay there a little bit longer, he might be able to pretend she loves him like he loved her. 

"Caleb?" Jester cocks her head to the side. "Are you okay? Your face is all red." 

He turns away. "I'm fine. It's just, I'm glad you're here." 

"Of course I'm here. I mean, I am the princess of Nicodranas." She looks at him coyly. "Where else would I be?"

"I meant here with me," Caleb mutters.

Jester leans in closer to Caleb. "Of course, Caleb. I'm glad you're here too." 

"You are?" 

A purple blush spreads over Jester's face. "Yeah, I am."

"Jester, I'm…" There's so much he wanted to say. That he was a brittle man who's been unbearably cruel to the people he loved, ever since he was a child. That the fact that Veth, no longer a goblin, is safe with her family and wrecking havoc without fear in whatever town she happens in means the _world_ to him—and it couldn't have been possible without Jester. That he doesn't deserve her, but he wants to be with her regardless. That he would leave if someday, his cracked broken self didn't make her happy.

It's incredible that his cracked broken self can make her happy even now.

"I'm very fond of you," he says, and he stares at her. Painful hope writhes in his chest—both hoping she understands the tension underneath his words and that she misreads it as something else, as something platonic and safe. His blackened fingers intertwine in her hand and he exhales, a shuddering gasp past his lips at the coldness of her hands. He rubs her palm, trying to warm her up. "And I'd follow… you…" They're so close. Her eyes are half-lidded and her forehead is against his and _they're so close_.

"I'm _so_ fond of you." His voice breaks, and he's not sure how they kiss. Maybe his face twitched up as hers shifted low, but then they're _kissing_ , something so desperate and primal in it. His free hand reaches for her waist and tugs her close, as close as she can come, and Jester _sighs_ into his mouth, smiling against his lips.

Until she pulls back, her eyes wide. "Cayleb, your gem nearly chipped my tooth," she chides, her lips wet and her breathing heavy.

Caleb touches his own, eyes wide. Out comes… a sapphire. He holds it up, inspecting it. "The Traveler's magic is beautiful," he whispers in awe.

"Yep!" Jester says kissing Caleb's nose.

"But, I know something even more beautiful," Caleb says.

Jester frowns looking uncertain. "What?" 

"You." Caleb wraps his arms around her, earning a giggle and kisses her again.

And of course, they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> *The torture scene will begin once Trent brings Caleb to a surgical room for experimentation.
> 
> THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR READING! Please leave kudoes/comments if you enjoyed, it means the world!!!!
> 
> —grandfatherclock


End file.
